


Confide in Currents

by jamjoon



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, OT7, Pining, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-11-18 05:18:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11284473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamjoon/pseuds/jamjoon
Summary: They're childhood best friends.Mark is a fool, if he thinks he can hide his feelings for that long.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, i know ive written a fuck ton of college aus but lets be honest. im not tired of them, you're not tired of them, so lets do this shit

It can be disheartening, moving from one of the most densely populated cities in the world, to a small hometown. Concrete jungles became sweet oak trees, as Mark studied what would be his third language.

There’s good and bad when it comes to tiny towns. Everyone talks about you. But friendships become stronger than blood.

Mark befriends a kid his age in sixth grade, because JB was the only one brave enough to stand up for him, when all the other kids were laughing at Mark’s accent.

Jaebum introduces him to Jinyoung, his neighbor. Who is best friends with Youngjae, and little baby third grade Yugyeom, because he used to babysit him on weekends.

In seventh grade, Bambam moves in from Thailand. He’s tiny tiny  _tiny,_ with puffy cheeks and baby doll eyes, and it’s impossible  _not_ to adopt him into their awkward middle-school clique.

 In eighth grade, Mark meets Jackson, and the rest his history.  

They click instantly. Like the Disney movies, with the songs and the fireworks – he’s a spry kid, short and stocky with a wide smile. He learns that Jackson also speaks Cantonese and English, and it’s like water in a desert.

Jinyoung sits at their metal lunch table, arms crossed, as Mark and Jackson excitedly talk about movies and comic books and the world cup, switching between languages and sputtering over their words from talking too fast.

“When did you move?” Mark bounces, shifting.

“This year!” Jackson beams. “Dad switched jobs, and I was totally bummed out but- but everyone is really nice here!”

“Wow! I only moved two years ago. From LA.”

“LA?! Like America??”

“Yeah! I lived in Brazil for a bit too!-“

“I’ve never heard Mark say so much in one go,” Jaebum blinks.  

“Korean is hard,” baby Bambam attests, one hand in his Iron Man lunchbox.

“What are they saying?” Youngjae asks with his mouth full.

“Dunno? Speak Korean!”

Mark doesn’t hear them. Instead he’s enraptured,  _ecstatic,_ overjoyed that he can finally say more than a sentence without worrying he sounds like a fool.

Jackson is a year younger than him – but by high school, they own these hallways. Yugyeom and Bambam hit an unbelievable growth spurt in their ninth year – and Mark and JB fear no one, as they rein from seniority. They’ve become a strange group of seven; it’s a melting pot of ages and ethnicities, but they’ve grown up together, and Mark can’t deny that they’re some sort of family.

 

The bad part of a small town? Everybody knows everybody. The good? You all go to the same college.

Mark’s freshman year is a culture shock all over again. It’s a huge campus – with people from not only his town, but from many he never traveled to. There’s new faces, new classes, new dorms, new  _everything –_

But the hardest part, probably, is the lack of Jackson.

Mark has Jaebum, sure. He’s a good enough roommate, neat, but not too neat. A quiet sleeper, of course, Mark would know, from all the times he’s spent the night at his house – but he’s not  _Jackson._

Mark is eighteen when he realizes how much he misses Jackson. He’s eighteen, when he realizes it might mean something more, and he’s eighteen when he decides to repress those feelings deep, deep,  _deeeeeep_ down, so they never see the light of day.

 

* * *

 

 “Hey,” Jackson lazes, head on Mark’s thigh, “Do you wanna’ go out to my car?”

“Yeah.”

He’s by the window, where it’s hot from the mid-day sun.  It’s warm, but he lets Jackson stay where he is.

“No-“ Jinyoung points, “ _No._ Yug and Bam move in tonight, and you both promised to help.”

“We  _will,_ ” Jackson stresses.

“Yeah,” Mark plays with the cord of his headphones, lightly gnawing on it. “We’ll be there.”

Jinyoung frowns, “Neither of you will be doing shit if you’re stoned out of your goddamn mind.”

 He throws his legs over the edge of the sofa chair. Technically it’s Mark and JB’s chair, since they’re the ones paying the rent – but Jinyoung has been hanging around more often since he started dating Jaebum last year, so it’s become  _‘Jinyoung’s chair’._ Mark would complain, but Jinyoung cooks them both breakfast in the morning, and let’s be honest, Mark likes Jinyoung. He’s the best at getting JB out of those brooding moods every time Mark kicks his ass in a video game. Jinyoung essentially left an entire apartment to Jackson and Youngjae, which would sound like a disaster, if  _both_ weren’t at Mark’s place 24/7  _as well._

 _You have more floor space than us!_ They say, as they camp out on the carpet and steal all of Mark’s Sherpa fleece blankets.

“Dude, we’ll be fine!” Jackson rolls until his cheek is pressing against Mark’s upper thigh, so he can show Jinyoung the motion of crossing his heart. “We never break a promise.”

“We can smoke later,” Jaebum says, from his (and Jinyoung’s) bedroom. “God knows Bambam is going to bring his entire closet. It’s going to take all seven of us.”

“Boring,” Jackson pouts. “You’ve become a pushover. What happened to fun, exciting Jaebum-hyung?”

“He died,” Jaebum deadpans, and it’s soulless enough to make Mark and Youngjae break out laughing.

“I’m serious!” Jackson sits up. Mark is sad about it, but acts indifferent.  “You used to pop fireworks in coke bottles and help us steal bikes from those mean rich kids up the block.”

“That was so dumb.”

“Of  _course_ it was dumb. It’s called fun.”

“It wasn’t fun when we had to take Youngjae to the hospital for stitches.”

Mark snorts, “Your mom was so mad at us.” He reminisces faint memories of Jackson and Jaebum carrying a bleeding Youngjae in their arms across a dirt lot. It wasn’t  _that_ bad, drama queen.

Youngjae looks to the scar across his palm, “I like to tell girls I got it from a fight.”

Jinyoung laughs, “You’ve never been in a fight, and you haven’t spoken to a girl in over six months.”

Youngjae takes the hairband off his wrist, and launches it at Jinyoung’s face. Jinyoung bats it away.  

Jackson turns back to Mark, with those big round puppy eyes that Mark is never tired of. He repeats, “You wanna’ go out to my car?”

“Yeah.”

“No!” Jinyoung bats away another hairband – why does he have so many? “We’ve already been over this!”

Jackson is already standing up, offering a hand to Mark, and Mark is already taking it when Youngjae rolls over, off the couch and onto the floor, “You’ve lost, hyung.”

Jackson swings Mark’s hand back and forth, as they walk to the front door, “We’ll see you at the freshman dorms tonight!”

Jaebum peaks in, “You have three hours.” Jinyoung pouts, upset that Jaebum is no longer taking his side.

Mark strains his arm in Jackson’s grip to look back in the apartment and say, “Text me the room number.”

“It’s in the group chat.” Jinyoung answers. “Don’t be late, or you’re uninvited to dinner tonight.”

Jackson salutes, “Aye aye captain!” And then they’re gone, Jackson’s grip iron around his fingers, as he leads them down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

It’s impossible to ignore how handsome Jackson is, in this light.

Mark is tempted to tell him, but he won’t. Jackson makes a big deal out of things like that. Silly things, like praise and attention. So Mark leans back up against the window, and turns his head to breathe smoke up and over the front headrest. He watches it float, until it hits the windshield, and evaporates.

It’s hot, sweat lightly running from Jackson’s temple, down beneath the collar of his white muscle shirt. He’s curled up against the other side of the car, legs tangled with Mark’s, an arm propped up on the passenger seat. They’re very close – but they’ve never had any personal space to begin with. They don’t have boundaries. It’s always been dangerous, but Mark is addicted, like an adrenaline junkie.

Jackson’s car is a fixer-upper that never got around to that fix-upping. He buffed out the bumper, replaced the rims, and ran out of money when it came to the back seats. So they fold them down, and hotbox the SUV like Mark and Jackson have been doing these past two years.

Jackson lights the end of a pipe, thumb flicking over the lighter, before tossing it away. Mark watches him breathe, watches his shirt stretch across his chest as he inhales, and doesn’t look away when Jackson turns his head to smoke.

“So…” Mark shrugs, “What’s up?” He’s relaxed, warm, but Jackson still looks stressed. He can see it in his eyes, and the way he keeps sniffing, curling in on himself in the slightest of twitches. Mark knows his body language horrifyingly well.

Jackson coughs a little, before setting down the pipe, “What’ya mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

Jackson shifts uncomfortably, until his head is against the window. “Umm.”

“You dragged me out here,” Mark sways his knee, bonking it against Jackson’s.

“It’s nothin’.”

“Hm.”

“Just, uh. Anxious. I guess.”

“School?” Mark shifts as well. “You’re a Junior now~.”

Jackson grins, “Yeah, you senior.”

Mark smiles back, “So what’s wrong?”

Jackson rubs his face, “Ugh. Just.  _Ugh.”_

“Uh huh.”

“ _Uhhhghhhhh-“_

“I’m supposed to be the one bad with my words,” Mark laughs.

“My mom called,” Jackson says, and Mark feels his gut sink a little.

“Oh. Is she okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah.”  Jackson waves his hands. “Um, totally fine. I just miss her, I guess.”

Mark hums. Jackson is a momma’s boy – and ever since his parents moved back to China, (while Jackson stayed), it’s been hard for him.

Mark can’t help. Not in the way he wants to. So he reaches between his legs to squeeze the calf that’s there, and Jackson looks up to meet his eyes.

“You look pretty,” Mark says. And oh god,  _why_ did he say that? His brain is lagging miles behind his mouth, and he feels his ears go red – but Jackson laughs and giggles,

“Really?”

Mark turns his attention to picking up the pipe to pack another hit.

And he shoves his foot in his mouth. Again.

“Yeah. You should get a girlfriend this year.” The words taste gross and dry on his tongue, but he’s so faded, he can’t stop. “You need a, uh, an emotional support system.”

An obscure look crosses Jackson’s face. Mark feels his stomach lodge in his throat. But the look is gone in a blink, as Jackson leans back and grins, “Nah. That’s why I have you guys.”

“You had a girlfriend in highschool,” Mark recalls. He flicks the lighter. On and off.

It was a hard time. Mark felt sad and lonely and icky all the time, and he couldn’t tell why. Couldn’t decipher jealousy from envy – and for a while, he thought he was jealous of Jackson, for dating the cutest girl on their cheer team.

But it wasn't quite so.

Jackson is  _his_ best friend.

Of course, he’s Jaebum’s as well. And Jinyoung’s, and Youngjae’s and Bambam’s and Yugyeom’s-

But they’re Markson. They’ve always connected on an entirely different level – because Jackson lets Mark see him like this. Without a smile, with real worries, legs tangled, bodies close in the back of a smoky car.

Jackson nods, “Yeah, I did. She was nice.”

Mark smokes, crossing a line he really shouldn’t; but his heart is beating too fast, and the smell of weed makes his body chill.

Mark sits up to breathe out across Jackson’s face. It’s a joke, but Jackson doesn’t move. Instead he inhales – and shit, that’s kinda’ hot. The idea of shotgunning is way too arousing right now, so Mark shoos it away.

“I’m not really interested, you know?” Jackson shifts, wiggling around in the tight space until his legs are in Mark’s lap, and his head is against the cushion. He’s cute. Fuck, he’s so cute. Messy bleached hair, hot cheeks and broad shoulders. He’s grown up, right before Mark’s eyes.

“I know.” Mark says. It takes every ounce of self-control Mark has to resist grabbing Jackson’s leg, and running his hand up his thigh.

“What about you?” Jackson turns. “You’ve dated a couple people here and there.”  

“Mostly in highschool,” Mark scratches the back of his head.

“There was that guy, last year.”

Mark runs his tongue across his teeth, and sighs. “Yeah. I wouldn’t really call that dating.”

“Oh.” Jackson flushes. “Right.”

“I’m not-” Mark rubs his eyes, “-uh, good at, um, relationships.”

For a while, he thought he was aromantic. He just _sucked_ at it – the relationship always felt one sided. Mark struggled with putting his whole heart into it. It became more about the sex, than anything.

But, the way he feels about Jackson – it’s undeniable for what it is.

Jackson wiggles and yawns,  “Thas’ fine. You have me.”

Goddammit.

 “Yeah,” Mark says, and closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Mark drops a box halfway down the stairs, and curses when busts, tupperware bouncing down the concrete.

“You whore,” Jinyoung barks. “I  _told_ you not to smoke before Bambam and Yugyeom got here.”

Mark pulls down his eyelid and snaps back, “I’m  _sober._ It slipped.”

Yugyeom patiently picks up the tupperware at the bottom of the stairs, placing it back in the box with a smile, “It’s alright, Jinyoung-ah. It’s to be expected when we ask Mark-hyung to do physical labor.”

Mark smiles, “I missed you.”

“Missed you too.”

“ _Hey!”_ Bambam yells, from the moving truck, “Be careful with that!”

“What, this?” Youngjae jostles a box in his arms.

“ _Youngjae!”_

“Shake, shake, shake, señora~” Youngjae dances, and laughs when Bambam tries to sack him like a linebacker. Youngjae stays upright, of course.

Jaebum peaks over, “What’s in there?”

“Noi-nya.”

“What?’

“Noinya business! Now stop-!”

Mark laughs, leaning up against the wall to watch. He hasn’t seen Bambam since break. He dyed his hair white, and added a few piercings, but he still looks as sweet and cute as Mark remembers.

Youngjae tears his nails into the tape, and Bambam hisses to steal it away. He stalks past them all into the apartment, fuming.

Mark gives Yugyeom a questioning look.

“They’re figurines.” Yugyeom clarifies. “He doesn’t want anyone to know he has them.”

Jinyoung smiles, “Aww, that’s cute.”

“He’s a little overwhelmed, I think.” Yugyeom hands a box to Mark.

Jaebum nods, and follows, “I’ll talk to him.”

Mark dumps the box in the room, and goes back down the stairs, to the moving truck. They should be almost done – thank god. Mark lied about not being high; he’s hungry and tired and he really shouldn’t have taken that last hit.

Youngjae looks to the truck, arms full, “Hey, you need some help with that?”

Jackson turns around, bags in his arms, and shakes his head, “I got it!”

“Damn, what’s in those?”

“Bam’s shoes, I’m sure.”

Mark’s feet freeze to the floor, and he feels his heart drop into his dick. Jackson’s sleeves are rolled to his shoulders, arms straining with the weight of the bags. His hair is pushed back and sweaty and, fuck. It just doesn’t get old, does it?

“Let me help,” Yugyeom sighs, stepping down to take one of the bags.

Jackson fights, “I got it!”

“Give it to him,” Mark says, ripping his eyes away to pick up the last of the paraphernalia. “Stop showing off.”

Jackson huffs, as Yugyeom takes some of the weight away.

“I’m not!”

Jinyoung says flippantly, “We all know you’re strong, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that, I’m older than you,” Jackson bristles. He relaxes a little, and the veins in his arm go back to normal, and Mark gets his lungs back.

“Isn’t Yugyeom still stronger than you?”

“No!”

“Yes!”

 “He won the arm wrestling match at Mark’s Christmas party.”

“No!” Jackson repeats. “I work out way more than he does.”

Yugyeom shifts the bag up on one shoulder, and flexes his other arm, “It’s called  _natural strength,_ hyung.”

“Can we measure dicks inside? I’m tired of being on my feet,” Mark pouts.  

Youngjae rolls down the door of the moving truck, “Yup! We’re clear, babes.”

Yugyeom starts, “I have a bigger-“

“Go, go,” Mark pushes at Yugyeom’s back, forcing him back up towards the dorm. “We know, go-“

Jackson makes a scandalous noise, and Mark fights a smile.

They climb the stairs, dumping the last of Yugyeom and Bambam’s shit in the room. Bam is already unpacking pillows, as Jaebum helps him set their beds on raisers for extra storage.

“Mark is being mean,” Jackson pouts. 

Jaebum distantly answers, “Is he?”

“He called me pretty earlier, but now he said I have a small dick.”

Jaebum is shocked into a laugh, and Jinyoung kicks at Jackson’s ankles to get him to move out of the doorway. The dorm is small and congested with all of them here.

Youngjae wiggles his eyebrows, “You said he was pretty?” Mark keeps a neutral face, and Youngjae wiggles his eyebrows more.

Youngjae is way too smart for his own good. He’s great at playing stupid, so he sneaks up on you, right when you’re not expecting it. Bail bitch, bail.

“You can’t hold me accountable for what I say while I’m high,” Mark shifts, flopping back onto Yugyeom’s bed.

“Hey, we’re legal now,” Bambam bounces. “Are you gonna’ teach us how to smoke?”

“Sure,” Mark says, as Jinyoung bites, “ _No.”_

Mark turns, “Why not?”

Jackson slings an arm around Bambam’s shoulders, “Yeah, we promised when they turned eighteen.”

“Because, it's still illegal. And I know they’ve already smoked before.”

“That is  _not_ true.” Bambam lies, “We promised our first hit would be with you guys.”

Jinyoung raises an eyebrow, and Yugyeom keeps his mouth shut, smartly. They’ve already lost.

“Damn,” Youngjae crosses his arms. “Ratted out by the fuzz.”

“That’s me,” Jaebum stands up off his knees.

 “Wait,  _you_ told Jinyoung-hyung?” Yugyeom squints. “When did this happen?”

“Youngjae’s prom night, I think.” Bambam rubs his forehead. “We got fucked up and went to Mark-hyung’s house, ‘cause his parents are the only ones cool enough not to tell.”

“Guess who was sleeping on the couch~” Jaebum sings. “Plot twist, me.”

Jinyoung jokingly makes the  _‘I’m watching you’_ gesture with his fingers, “I’ve got eyes everywhere.”

"Shit."

“Sorry,” Mark shrugs.

“You should still teach me how to do those cool smoke rings,” Bambam gestures.

When Jinyoung turns his back, Mark winks, and Bambam hides his grin behind a cough.

“Kay, I’m starving,” Yugyeom sways into Jaebum, wrapping his arms around his torso. “Can we go eaaaat?”

“Sure,” Jinyoung wipes his hands on his jeans. “I think that’s the last of Bambam’s garbage.”

“You’re so rude,” Bambam crosses his arms. “You act like you don’t horde polo shirts like the damned.”

“I’m driving,” Jackson fishes out his keys. “Who’s riding?”

“Me.”

“Me.”

“Shotgun,” Mark calls, a foot already out the door, but Youngjae races him to the car, and gets there first. Jackson lets Mark ride in the front seat anyways.

 _Hyung privileges,_ he says.

 

* * *

 

The semester starts like every other semester. Mark tries to fight off the Senioritis mentality, and focuses instead on pulling a better GPA than last quarter. Everything is as it was; except, now their group is complete. They’ve all made friends in their respective grades – but there’s something about childhood friendship that brings you back.

Bambam and Yugyeom get into the swing of school easily. All their schedules line up on Monday, so the seven of them make an effort to eat together. Sometimes it doesn’t happen – it doesn’t matter. They all see each other on weekends anyways.

Mark holds down a part-time job as an IT support at a local electronics store. It’s only part time, because if Mark worked more than ten hours a week he might go batshit crazy. There’s only so many times he can say  _did you turn it off and back on again_ before he wants to jump off the nearest bridge.

The best part of his day is when Jackson stops by during his break. He usually brings coffee, and some kind of encouragement, as he passes by on the way to his fencing practice. 

They’ve become so integrated into each other’s lives. It happens so seamlessly.

It makes Mark think, maybe, that this is fine. Jackson doesn’t need to know how he feels. He’s happy, like this.

 

* * *

 

“Jackson, Jackson, Jackson,” Mark lays, draped halfway off the couch. “Jackson. Gaga.  _Gaga-“_

“What?” He laughs.

“Can you get my charger?  I left it in the bathroom.”

Jackson snorts, shutting the fridge, and walking towards the hall. “Why is it in the bathroom?”

“I like to listen to music in the shower, shut up.”

His voice echoes in the bathroom, “ _Mark dancing naked in the shower, now that’s a mental image. What is it, Queen Bey?”_

“Loco, actually, but nice try.”

“That reminds me,” Jackson reappears. “We should go out dancing.”

“This weekend?” Mark takes the cord from Jackson, and thanks him.  

“Yeah,” Jackson flops down next to him, snuggling up into his side and stretching out his legs. Mark struggles to plug his charger into the extension cord. “Take the kids, you know?”

Mark nods, “They’d like that.”

Jackson is essentially laying on top of him– he’s heavy, but Mark is sleepy and he’s really really warm. Mark’s face is squished into the couch cushions, as Jackson wiggles atop his back. He tries to ignore Jackson’s hips pressing against his.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Shouldn’t you be minding your own business?”

Jackson scoffs, “I just did you a  _favor.”_

“Sorry,” Mark deadpans. His phone slowly comes back to life.

Jaebum’s door flies open, and Jinyoung emerges, toweling off his hair.

“Hey.”

“Hiya,” Jackson chirps.

“Having fun there?”

“Yesss,” Jackson drawls. Mark makes a strangled, suffocating noise, and is ignored. “Is it date night already?”

“Mhmm. Hyung and I are trying out this new boba place on the west side of town.”

“Igh, isn’t that the one with the ridiculously long lines?”

“Yeah, but I mean, what the fuck else are we doing?”  Jinyoung grabs a bottle out of the fridge. “Nothing, that’s what.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have quit your job.”

“Maybe you should mind your business.”

Mark laughs from under Jackson’s weight, and Jackson sits up with a scoff. “Damn! You two need to stop hanging out together.”  

“I’m not going back to retail.” Jinyoung makes a face. “I did it for three years. They’d have to take me kicking and screaming.”

“I know how you feel,” Mark says.

“Well, keep next weekend open. We might go out.” Jackson finally rolls off of Mark, who takes a dramatic breath.

“Sounds fun, will do.” Jinyoung nods. “You’re not swamped with homework, hyung?”

“Yes,” Mark answers. “But If I don’t think about it, maybe it’ll go away.”

Jinyoung lifts an eyebrow, and Mark doesn’t react.

“I thought you wanted better grades this semester.”

“Shhh,” Mark curls back up. “They’ll get there.”

“I can help!” Jackson bounces. “My classes aren’t that hard.”

Mark smiles, “Okay.”

Lots of people like to think that Jackson has a lower IQ, just because he’s silly and loud – but that’s far from the truth. He’s intelligent and street smart, and undeserving of the mean things people say. Mark never had the spirit for fighting, but he once threw a nasty punch at this guy back in high school, and almost broke his hand. It was worth it.

Jaebum appears, throwing a shirt over his head, “Dude, you ready?”

“Yep.” Jinyoung leaves the towel hanging off the barstool. “Are you spending the night, Jackson?”

“Probably.”

“You can take JB's bed if you want.”

Jaebum snaps,  _“Hey!”_

“Thanks, but I’ll probably end up in Mark’s room anyways,” Jackson flops back against him, and Mark isn’t prepared for it, so he makes a deep  _oof_ noise. “He’s got all the good blankets.”

Jinyoung winks, “Just thought I’d ask.”

“Keep your head out of the gutter,” Mark deadpans. His ears burn a little.

“It’s not! I know you two just watch American dramas and eat ice cream all night.”

Jaebum makes a noise of agreement, swiping his car keys off the counter. “It’s kinda’ sad.”

Both Jackson and Mark lift their middle fingers simultaneously, and the couple in the doorway breaks out laughing.

“Catcha’ guys later,” Jaebum waves.

“Hey, if you have time, pick up something for Youngjae,” Jackson says. “I don’t think he’s eaten in the past twenty-four hours.”

“Will do.”

“Drive safe,” Mark calls, before the duo waves, and locks the door behind them.

Jackson wiggles and squirms, “We’re alooooone! Boo hoo~”

Mark can’t help it. His heartbeat skyrockets into his throat. Jackson keeps squishing his cheek against the back of Mark’s neck, not even phased by their close proximity. Mark would be concerned if he  _was._

 “Uh huh.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Don’t put me in charge,” Mark clicks his phone back on, now that it’s charging. “I’m tired.”

“We don’t have class tomorrow~. We should do something fun!”

“What suffices as fun?”

“I don’t know.”

Mark snorts, but it comes off as a choke.

“Can you get off me?”

“Only if you go driving with me,” Jackson grins- or Mark assumes he does. He can hear it in his voice.

Mark hides his smile in the couch cushions, “Fine.”

Jackson squeezes around his waist, and hauls him up, and he smells good. Like shampoo, and Jackson. Mark’s homework is left undone on the kitchen table, to do another day.

So they go, and they drive, and Mark rolls down the windows, and watches Jackson tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the radio.

They drive down the highway. Out of the city, and past the beach. Mark stretches his hand out the window, fingers grasping at air, as if he could hold the sea breeze.

Jackson looks beautiful. It’s not a word Mark likes to throw around – but he really does. Street lights flicker against his face, dimly falling across a strong jawline and long lashes.

Mark doesn’t say anything, and Jackson doesn’t expect him to. It’s just the radio, the late night making it intimate enough for Mark to pretend it could be something more.

* * *

 

Mark usually doesn’t like eating outside. There’s bugs that try to land in his lunch; the sun is too hot, and the shade is too cold, and he doesn’t understand the need to sit on a blistering metal bench when there’s perfectly fine tables inside the campus cafeteria – but Jaebum was adamant that it was  _‘too nice to stay inside’,_ so here they are.

He  _should_ be studying, like Jinyoung and Yugyeom, but instead Mark twirls his chopsticks between his fingers, and zones in and out of the conversation.

“Did you know that adults swallow more Tide Pods than children?” Bambam asks flippantly, scrolling through twitter on his phone.

“And what exactly am I supposed to do with that information?”

“Well…” Youngjae rubs his chin. “They do look quite…edible.”

Jackson squints, “Wait, those are the squishy detergent things, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve always wanted to eat one of those!”

“So, wait.” Jinyoung rests his head in his hand. “Grown ass adults just see them and think,  _hm delicious?”_

“Come on,” Bambam elbows him. “You’ve never touched one and felt the need to bite into it?”

“I just use normal fucking detergent.”

“I knew someone who once mistook bleach for lemonade mix,” Mark says.

Half the table gasps, various exclamations of, “Oh my god,  _what?!”_

“How is that even possible?” Yugyeom laughs.

Mark shrugs, “Don’t know. He was a kid when it happened, but he said he reached under the sink, and thought the Comet bleach powder was lemonade.”

“That’s dumb as hell,” Jinyoung says, as Bambam shouts, “ _Did he die?!”_

“No, but he had to get his stomach pumped.”

Youngjae squints, “Okay, but who looks under the sink for lemonade?”

“Dude, I don’t know.”

“This conversation is stupid,” Jaebum interrupts. “Does anyone need a ride on Saturday?”

“Oh, me.” Youngjae raises a hand. “Me, me, pick me.”

Jinyoung sways, “Me too, please.”

“Yug, Bam?”

“I got them,” Mark nods. Bambam and Yugyeom lift up peace signs.

“Are you sure?” Jackson frowns. “You work a shift that morning, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I have enough time to go home and change before I pick them up.”

“I need a car,” Bambam sighs.

“Dude, you need a license.”

“That too.”

“I can teach you how to drive,” Jackson smiles. “We can go out to the quiet side of town.”

“Shit, really?” Bambam smiles, “I’d love that.”

“Hey,” Jaebum frowns. “I offered to teach you, and you said no.”

“Yeahhh….uhhhh…”

“No offense babe, you’re a great driver, but-” Jinyoung pats his shoulder, “-uh, not the best teacher.”

Jaebum scoffs, “I’m a fine teacher.”

“How does that quote go?” Youngjae hums. “Patience is a conquering virtue.”

Mark laughs behind his shirt sleeve, when Jaebum kicks at Youngjae from under the table. Jackson is laughing too – and for a brief second, they lock eyes from across the bench. Jackson gives him a goofy grin; one that warms Mark from the inside out. He offers a half smile back, before turning back to his lunch.

 

* * *

 

“Wow."

Bambam looks up to the ceiling, where colored lights bounce and flicker around the walls. The music is loud enough to feel tangible – and it sets Mark on edge. It’s a good edge.

Work was hell, and school is busy, and all Mark wants to do is dance.

The rest of his friends are already here, hanging out by the bar. Jinyoung, Youngjae and Jackson are already working on a few drinks, while Jaebum nurses a soda.

Yugyeom and Bambam take off, bouncing up to them at the bar, and Mark follows quietly behind.

The maknaes look good – messy but combed hair, dark jeans and silky button up shirts. Bambam went above and beyond, of course, his makeup more tasteful than some of the girls here.

“Hey,” Jackson holds out a hand, and Mark claps it in his own. “You made it.”

“Barely,” Mark replies.

“We waited for you guys,” Jinyoung slides off the barstool. “What do you think?”

“This is so cool,” Yugyeom grins, glancing around. “Loud, but I like it.”

“This is where they first took me last year,” Youngjae slings an arm around Yugyeom’s shoulders. “It’s a cheaper entrance fee than some of the other clubs.”

“Hey, let me buy you two a drink.”

“Fuck yeah! Thanks, hyung.”

“You want one Mark?”

“Nah, I drove.”

It’s a bit busy tonight, but it adds to the atmosphere. Mark picks at the fraying hole on the thigh of his jeans, and shifts anxiously.

“How was work?” Jackson asks.

“Uh,” Mark blinks. “The worst.”

Jackson pouts, shifting closer to hear him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I just love getting chewed out by customers all day.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackson frowns. “You wanna’ go dance?”

“Yes,” Mark answers. He does.

Yugyeom and Bambam slam down a shot- way too well for their 'first one', mind you, but Mark isn't surprised. 

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Youngjae marches.

They push towards the crowd, where the DJ booth sits raised on a stage. It’s louder here – darker too, except for the strobe lights. It feels good though. To slide into a crowd, and feel the floor vibrate with the bass beneath your feet.

Not to brag or nothin’, but they’re not a bunch of noobs. They went to parties in highschool – all seven of them. They’re not shabby dancers.

Yugyeom and Bambam fall into the beat easily, dancing naturally close to each other. Mark can’t help but keep a watchful eye on them, as they jump up and down. However, Jackson’s body slides behind him, hot and sturdy, and Mark let’s go.

Jinyoung and Jaebum are dancing together. The crowd is constantly shifting, people sliding between them – but nobody drifts too far. It’s hot, but it’s fun, and Mark finds himself relaxing. He pops the first few buttons of his shirt, and keeps going.

He eventually turns to see Jackson holding hands with Youngjae, the two of them dancing silly, jumping around and laughing in each other’s ears. He loves the way Jackson dances with his entire body. It's adorable.

He’s not sure how long it’s been; but Mark realizes he’s lost Yugyeom, and leans on his tippy toes to see. He spots him nearby, and honestly? He’s fucking up that dancefloor. Yugyeom is what they call  _‘accidentally sexy’,_ and it really shows as he closes his eyes, and sensually rolls his body. He’s getting some unwanted attention – Mark can see a few people shifting up to him, trying to grind against him, so Mark dances over to Yugyeom, and slaps a hand to his hip.

“Hey,” Mark says. He sees Jinyoung and Jaebum dancing closer as well, until they’ve walled off Yugyeom from the handsy dancers. Nice teamwork.

“Hi!” Yugyeom smiles, slinging his long arms over Mark’s shoulders.

Mark strains his voice to be heard, “Having fun?”

Yugyeom’s hair sticks to his forehead with sweat, but he looks cute.

“Yes! So much fun.”

“You’re a good dancer." Mark places his other hand around Yugyeom’s waist, and pulls him away from a girl who keeps trying to swat at his ass.

“So are you,” Yugyeom smiles. Mark follows Yugyeom’s eyes, as they flicker over to Bambam. He’s dancing with a crowd, wiggling and shaking – and Mark nods knowingly, keeping his mouth shut.

They dance together for a while, until Jinyoung pulls him away, and decides it’s his turn. Their hands tangle in the air with everyone else’s, and Jinyoung knocks their hips together as they sway.

“You sure you don’t want a drink?” Jinyoung asks.

“Dude, I drove.”

“Dude, there’s Uber.”

“It’s fine,” Mark dances. "You know I’m not a huge drinker."

“Well…you might want to reconsider,” Jinyoung says, looking over his shoulder. Mark turns around in the tight space, trying not to bump into the strangers next to him – and he spots Jackson. He’s far across the club, dancing with a girl Mark has never seen on campus before.

She’s pretty. Dyed hair, and a shapely body. They’re twisted together, Jackson definitely working his charm, because he’s smiling wide, hands politely on her waist. They rock together naturally. They’re talking – Mark assumes, because he can see the bob of Jackson’s throat. She tangles her fingers in his hair, and pulls their bodies closer. 

Mark turns around in a pout, sticking his fingers in Jinyoung’s belt loops. “Good for him.”

Jinyoung is giving him the look that he hates, so Mark ignores it, instead dancing with the rhythm, and the beat of the people around him. However, he can’t help the growing hole at his chest. It gnaws at him, drawing his eyes back to Jackson and that girl every few minutes. They’re just dancing, but it still stings. It shouldn’t.

It feels wrong. Not that Mark has any type of repressed homophobia – but it feels like he’s – like he’s lying. Because he is. Jackson trusts him. Jackson trusts him to be a best friend, and as hard as Mark tries, he just…can’t fucking help it.

Jackson is funny and smart and handsome and so so likeable, thoughtful and sweet and strong, with all the weaknesses that make him human and - shit. Fuck.

As the crowd shifts, Mark latches onto Jaebum, because Jaebum won’t ask questions – and he doesn’t. He lets Mark cling to his back, nails drawing in the back of his shirt. He ignores Jinyoung’s glances, ignores Jackson’s flirting, ignores the twist in his stomach. He ignores it all.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Mark decides to bury himself in his schoolwork for the next few days. It’s easier that way.

He doesn’t text back in the group chat, and nobody takes offense to it. He denies a few party offers – prefers to sleep in a little, and build his walls back up. His friends give him space, they get it.

Mark wants Jackson to be happy. He wants him to make new friends and date people and live a busy life. He wants to keep being Jackson’s best friend. He wants to stop feeling like he might _die_ every time Jackson smiles at him.

It was easier when they were kids, and he didn’t know. Naivety is less painful.

But Mark does know. He knows what he wants – it’s a type of freedom he won’t allow himself. It worked out for Jinyoung and Jaebum, but it might not work out for _them._  

It’ll go away eventually. 

 

The electronics store is packed. He’s at work, feet tired, eyes sore from studying all night. Mark has class tomorrow, but he needs the money, so he picked up an extra shift. His back hurts, his patience is thin, and, oddly, he feels lonely. It’s been a few weeks since he hung out with everyone, and he kinda’ misses the positive support system. But, as usual, it’s just like Jackson to know what’s wrong.

Mark is just walking out the door, hanging up his keys, when he sees Jackson sitting on the hood of his car, a box of donuts in his lap. His radio is playing music in the parking lot – and he looks content, a bomber jacket over his shoulders, blue jeans rolled up at the ankles.

Jackson sees him exiting the store, and straightens on the hood.

“Mark!”

He blinks once, hesitating on the sidewalk, and Jackson slides off the car.

“I brought you donuts.”

“Th...thanks,” Mark stutters. “Uh, how’d you know I was working?”

“Well, funny story,” Jackson begins. “I showed up to your apartment, and you weren’t there, and JB said you left an hour ago, and I assumed that you were here and – actually, that’s not much of a funny story, is it?”

Mark laughs anyways, taking a donut from the box. “You only bought glazed.”

“They’re your favorite.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Jackson shifts, setting the box on the hood, and leaning back up against it. “You’ve been weird lately.”

“Me, weird?” Mark chews, “Why, I’d never.”

Jackson laughs, but shrugs, “I dunno’. Maybe not. Maybe I’ve missed you.”

Jackson's nose is pink from the cold. Mark doesn't bother resisting the urge to side-hug him.

Mark smiles, “I drove here, but I can follow you somewhere, if you want.”

“There’s a new movie out that the maknaes wanted to see,” Jackson squeezes him back. “We can go swing by and pick them up.”

Mark double clicks his keys, the car directly next to Jackson’s lighting up as it unlocks.

“Sounds like a plan.”

 

* * *

 

It’s better this way, it’s better this way, it’s better this way.

 

* * *

 

“Like this?” Bambam exhales.

“I mean, I guess. It’s more like a smoke sausage, but it’s a start.”

“You shape it with your tongue,” Youngjae says.

“I use my lips,” Mark taps his bottom lip for show.

Bambam looks to Jackson, who just shrugs, “I can’t do it, don't ask me.”

Yugyeom sways back and forth on the barstool, obviously getting some sort of contact high, because he looks like the meme of that wiggling elmo.

Bambam takes another hit, and blows a weak smoke ring – but it’s almost there.

“That was better,” Mark exhales, passing the blunt to Jackson.

They’re in Jackson and Youngjae’s apartment today. Technically it’s Jinyoung’s too, but the bastard is never here, so he lost his freezer space to Youngjae’s Otter Pop impulse buy. It’s cramped here, but Mark doesn’t mind sitting on the floor, legs stretched before him. Jackson sits with Youngjae up on the couch behind him, Bambam next to Mark on the floor. The room smells thick, but not unsettling.

“Jackson is really good at shotgunning,” Youngjae suddenly says. Mark coughs a little, trying to stay casual about it.

“Is that when you smoke while you make out?”

“No?” Jackson squints, “I mean, you _can,_ but there’s a No Bromo way to do it.”

Mark watches the wheels turn in Bambam’s little fucked up head. Mark isn't fast enough to stop him, before he grins and says, “I wanna’ see.”

Jackson, of course, shrugs, “Sure. Do you want me to do it to you…or…?”

“Show me, first,” Bambam smirks. Yugyeom looks smug as well – these fuckers can’t be trusted.

Mark feels his heartrate skyrocket, as Jackson looks between Youngjae and Mark.

“Hey,” Youngjae lifts his hands, “I would, but I have vocal practice later.”

Jackson looks to Mark and lifts an eyebrow, “Eyy?”

He absolutely should _not;_ but four eyes are on him, and Mark can’t be a pussy in front of the freshmen.

“Sure, I guess.”

“Am I receiving, or you?”

“That’s what she said-“

“Shut _up-_ “ Mark pushes at Bambam’s face, “You’ve got the blunt, so…”

“Okay,” Jackson chirps, and breathes in easily. It’s so effortless, it’s kinda’ sexy. He holds the smoke in his cheeks, before he scoots to the edge of the couch, and leans down.

They’ve never done this before. I mean, they’ve _done it,_ but not with each other.

Jackson secures a hand behind his head, just to yank Mark closer, but it makes Mark feel all kinds of colorful things. It's almost romantic, the fingers at the back of his neck. He tips Mark’s head, his face sliding closer.

Mark forces his nerves at bay – they won’t kiss – but they lean close enough to. They’re hovering, Jackson’s eyes bearing holes into his face. Mark can’t look him in the eye, or his resolve might break. However, he studies his cheekbones, his nose, his ears; his lips are so close, Mark can see where he chews on them.

Jackson’s fingers adjust against his neck. He opens his mouth, and pushes the smoke with his tongue. Time slows. Mark parts his lips, and breathes in, the smoke crossing the bare inch between them. The high doesn’t help how much of a turn on this is. Mark forces himself to focus.

The moment lasts forever. Jackson hovering in the small space between them.

Once Mark has inhaled it, the hand at his neck pulls away, and Jackson sits back against the couch.

“Voila!” Jackson gestures. “That’s how you do it, dude.”

Mark pulls back, and keeps his face neutral to hide the fact that his hands are shaking. Jackson looks unaffected.

“Like true pros,” Youngjae motions. “Half the time I hack up a lung.”

“Huh,” Bambam replies. “Doesn’t look too hard.”

“You say that now.”

Jackson gestures, “You wanna’ try?”

“No thanks,” Bambam smirks. “I think I’m good.”

That bitch.

Mark narrows his eyes, and Bambam plays oblivious to his glare.

Jackson shrugs, naïve and indifferent, relaxing back up against the couch, and kicking a leg up over Mark’s shoulder.

“Your loss, bro.”

Mark pinches his ankle, but Jackson doesn’t flinch.

“Dude, get your _feet-_ “ he shoves his leg, “- out of my face.”

“My feet don’t smell dude!”

Jackson squeezes closer, wrestling Mark with his legs from his perch on the couch.

“Doesn’t matter!”

The maknaes look so fucking content. Mark catches Bambam’s eye, who smirks wildly. Mark makes a show of looking up at Yugyeom, and looking back, mouthing, _you’re next._

Bambam’s cheeks flush red, and he scrambles to take the blunt from Jackson, hiding his face with smoke.

 

* * *

 

Jaebum always yells at him for taking too long in the shower, but today, Mark just doesn’t care.

Hot water rushes over his shoulders, down his back, and around the drain. His hair drips into his eyes, but Mark stands still, letting his stress wash away.

It’s already been days. He has an essay due this Thursday, and a group project to start next week, and he’s worked fifteen hours this week – but his brain _still_ won’t stop replaying what happened at the 3J apartment.

Dammit, Mark wanted to kiss him. He wanted to grip him by the hair, and breathe the smoke in by his tongue. Fuck, he feels hot just thinking about it.

Mark bonks his forehead against the cold tile, and lets out a soft groan. He feels fifteen, not twenty-two. Something so small shouldn’t make him feel this way.

He kissed a girl when he was ten, and a guy when he was thirteen. He had his first girlfriend freshman year of highschool, and his last during his second year of college. Mark kissed them all, and never felt a thing.

But with Jackson- they didn’t even kiss! For fucks sake, Mark has shotgunned with Jinyoung and JB plenty of times. He thinks he did it with Taehyung once too, for just a party trick. They might’ve made out. His chest never hurt like this.

Mark shoos away the hopeful thinking, and washes the suds out of his hair.

 

* * *

 

Jinyoung throws his lead-less pencil into the trash as he says, “You’re useless, and I don’t need you anymore. Fuck off.”

Jackson chooses that moment to sit at their lunch table. His hand flies over his heart, and he gasps, “ _Well!_ I didn’t know you felt that way! _”_

“I wasn’t talking to you, dipshit.”

“Ignore him,” Mark says, making room for Jackson to sit. “He’s testy today.”

“I got a _ninety-four,_ Mark-hyung.” Jinyoung's hands slam on the table, and it jostles Jaebum’s coffee. “All because I forgot to attach a rubric. He never told us to! How am I supposed to know?”

“I’m sorry for your A minus,” Bambam deadpans. “My C+ in Pre-Calc says _eat my ass.”_

“Hey, I tried to help you,” Yugyeom pouts.

“You’re just as bad as me. It was the blind leading the blind, dude.”

“I’m not bad at math,” Mark says. “Call me next time.”

Bambam speaks around a mouthful, “Nah, you’re busy Hyung. Don’t wanna’ bug you.”

“Don’t give me that shit. Last week you texted me the entirety of the _Turbo_ script at three in the morning.”

“It’s a movie about _fast snails,_ Hyung! It was fucking important!”

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Youngjae says from his phone, “but did you guys get the invite from Wonho hyung?”

“I did,” Jaebum nods, as Jinyoung says, “Yeah.”

“Hyungwon told me about it,” Mark says.

“Same.”

Yugyeom asks, “Who now?”

“Yeah, what?”

“Oh, sorry, you two probably haven’t met them. There’s a group of friends we like to go party with,” Youngjae clarifies.

“Yeah, the more the merrier.”

Bambam leans in, interested, “Is there a party?”

“Mhmm, Friday night. It’s a little ways drive off campus.”

Jaebum asks, “Anyone going?”

“I was planning on it,” Jackson shrugs.

“Well, what kind of party are we talking here?” Jinyoung arches an eyebrow. “One where we get stoned to Fleetwood Mac for six hours, or an _actual_ party.”

“Wonho and Hyungwon are throwing it, so that should be enough to tell you,” Mark chews.

“Oh, a real party. I’m in then.”

Yugyeom slings an arm around Bambam’s shoulder, “Can we go?”

“Sure dude, you’re in if you’re with us.”

Youngjae lightly elbows Mark, “Hyung? You going?”

“Was thinking about it.”

Jackson suddenly speaks in Cantonese, immediately drawing his attention.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

Mark blinks. Jackson looks genuinely concerned, and its...sweet.

“What do you mean?” He asks back.

Jackson shrugs, “I know you haven’t been feeling the parties lately. I won’t go if you want to stay in.”

Mark plays with the backs of his earrings, as he feels his ears burn.

“Thanks, but I’m good. I need a distraction.”

Jackson laughs, and nods, “Okay.”

“Hey, hey, no fair.” Yugyeom pouts, “None of us speak Chinese.”

“We had to switch to Cantonese, since you guys started picking up English,” Mark jokes.

“Just you wait,” Jinyoung smiles. “We’ll start picking that up too.”

“Then we’ll use pig latin.”

“Ucksay ymay ickday.”

Bambam and Yugyeom start laughing, and Youngjae scrambles, “What? What? I don’t get it-“

Mark giggles, and turns back to his food when the conversation drifts on. What Jackson said resonates him. Mark hopes to be as thoughtful as he is.

 

* * *

 

He’s honestly excited for the party. Mark made friends with Hyungwon back in Art History 1, and they’ve been taking the shitty classes together since.

Hyungwon lives at a frat house with six other guys – most of them seniors, like Mark. Their parties are on a need-to-know basis, which usually keeps them from getting too out of hand.

Mark stares at his closet for a decent half hour, before he texts Bambam in question. Bambam texts back almost instantly, as if he has Mark’s closet memorized:

{7:55 p.m.}

> _That red oversized sweatshirt and the hella distressed blue jeans._

 

Mark frowns.

{7:56 p.m.}

_thts too casual, innit? < _

{7:56 p.m.}

_ > no shut up its cute _

Mark snorts, and texts back _okay sure,_ before changing out his earrings for his nicer ones, and jumping in the shower.

Jinyoung agreed to be their designated driver, so Mark waits on Jaebum’s bed, as he towels off his hair. He’s not sure why Jinyoung offered – Mark probably won’t drink anyways. Jinyoung said something about feeling bad, or whatever.

It’s not that Mark refuses to drink. It’s just that ninety percent of it tastes like bitter piss, and Mark would rather nurse a coke than dirty dishwater.

Jinyoung drives up in Jackson’s car with the rest of the gang already in the back. Mark slides in the front seat, and forces Jaebum to sit between the maknaes.

“You’re next,” Jaebum points, reaching up to pull on the back of Mark’s ear – and Mark laughs, squealing away in the front seat.

Jackson gasps comically, from the very back, reaching up to push at Jaebum’s shoulder, “That’s your _hyung,_ hyung.”

“Yeah,” Mark turns, joking. “Dongsaeng.”

Jaebum rolls his eyes and pouts, sliding down in the seat. Jinyoung refuses to drive until all their seatbelts are on, and Yugyeom yells until Mark passes him the aux chord.

It’s a short, loud drive, but it’s better than a thirty minute bus ride. Jinyoung parks at the end of the cul-de-sac and they’re recognized by the bouncers at the front door.

Their hosts sure didn’t skimp out tonight. There’s _nice_ alcohol, colored liquor lined up in shot glasses, fancy martinis and an honest to god pop-up-bar. Speakers blast music from the backyard, where most of the people are dancing. They’re playing good music, Mark will give them that.

“You’re here!” A familiar face pops up- and Mark throws out an arm, greeting him immediately.

“Tae.”

“You brought newbies!” Taehyung beams, bouncing. “Wonho will be ecstatic.”

“Hi!” Yugyeom and Bambam wave.

“Hey, let’s do a shot,” Youngjae wrestles in past the people walking by. “Before we all lose each other.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Taehyung grins. “Drink as much as you’d like, it’s all on Hyungwon tonight.”

Jinyoung scoffs, “Rich people.”

“Thank you,” Jaebum bows.

“Oh, hey!” Jackson interrupts. “Have you seen Namjoon?”

“Yes!” Taehyung points, “Over there. He’ll be happy to see ya’.”

“Thanks!” Jackson waves, before Taehyung disappears into the kitchen.

“Alright guys,” Jaebum lifts his glass. “Meet at Jinyoung’s car by two. Text the group chat if you go home early.”

Mark takes a shot glass handed from Yugyeom, and lifts it to all of theirs. They clink all seven glasses, tap them on the table once, and shoot it back. There’s various groans from the liquor- but Mark finds it less horrendous than he was expecting.

“Hey,” Jackson points at Jinyoung, who slams down his empty glass. “I thought you were driving.”

“I _am._ ” Jinyoung licks his lips. “One shot won’t hurt me.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Superhuman metabolism.”

Jaebum silently slips a hand in Jinyoung’s back pocket, smiling with pride.

Yugyeom and Bambam are gone by the time Mark turns around. He catches the back of their heads moving towards the crowd outside, so Mark turns his attention to the house.

It has large, tall ceilings, with a second floor and a semi-circle staircase. It reminds him of the big houses up in west Hollywood.

Jinyoung leads Jaebum god knows where, and Jackson’s laughter can be heard from the kitchen – mixed with Namjoon’s – so Mark house hunts, peeping in each room, until he finds Hyungwon in the garage, playing beer pong with a group of seniors. It’s hot in here, but it’s kinda’ hot everywhere.

Hyungwon is tall and lanky, shirt buttons undone, makeup smudged, but he pulls off a messy, sleepy look better than Mark does.

“Mark!” Hyungwon stands up straight, taking a ping pong ball to the face. “Ow! Fuck!”

Shownu bows, “Sorry.”

Mark laughs, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Hyungwon rubs his forehead. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Well, my friends are here, so.” Mark shrugs.

“Did you get a drink?”

“I drank something blue.”

“Let me get you another one,” Hyungwon says. He pats Seokjin on the back. “Tap in for me, hyung.”

“Hey!” Seokjin yips, “I suck at this game!”

“I’ll be back,” Hyungwon lies, and pushes Mark back into the house.

“You were loosing pretty bad back there,” Mark smirks.

“Eh,” Hyungwon shrugs. “Jin can handle it. Did you try a B-52?”

They approach the bar, where a few people are gathered. There’s a bartender, pouring drinks for college kids. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“No.” Mark plants his heels in the ground, “You know I hate this shit, dude.”

“No, no, I can get you a sweet one,” Hyungwon slides up to the bar. “Hey. Get me a Bazooka Joe.”

“Hyungwon-“

“I got this,” Hyungwon waves him off. The bartender gets to work without a word, and Hyungwon turns around, self-righteous. “So, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Mark runs his hands through his hair. “I skipped the last two classes. It’s a waste of time if she only grades the midterm and the final.”

“Oh shit, you didn’t show up either?” Hyungwon laughs, and Mark laughs with him.

“Fuck.”

“It’s boring as hell,” Hyungwon laughs. “Seriously though, why don’t we hang out?”

“I’ve already got my hands full,” Mark jokes, nodding his head towards Yugyeom and Bambam, dancing heartily on the grass. They’re with a few of their freshman friends – Jungkook and Jaehyun, if he remembers correctly.

The bartender slides the glasses over, and Mark blinks slowly.

“Dude, these are huge shot glasses.”

“It’s a party, dude,” Hyungwon lifts his. “Learn to let go.”

Mark eyes it suspiciously. Hyungwon gives him a rival look, and Mark picks it up with a pout.

“If it’s gross, I blame you.”

“It won’t be.”

They click glasses, and tap them against the table, before slamming them back. Mark downs it in one gulp, and he feels it run down his throat, sweet and sugary.

“Good lord,” Mark coughs.

“Good, right?”

“It’s…strong.”

“I told you,” Hyungwon grins. “Have you ever had a Chuck Norris?”

“No?” Mark rubs his eyes, trying to blink off the effects of the alcohol.

“It’s cherry vodka and an energy drink.”

“Are you trying to fucking kill me?”

“Last I remember, you’re not exactly a lightweight,” Hyungwon smirks, and motions at the bartender to whip up two.

Mark sighs, “You’re the only one to successfully get me drunk in the past three years.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

Mark eyes the drink as the bartender prepares it. He groans, “Literally, on every can of Redbull it says _Do Not Combine With Alcohol._ Humans weren’t meant to survive natural selection.”

“Nope,” Hyungwon agrees, taking the shot off the table. “Ready?”

Mark sighs, and figures, sure, he’s not working tomorrow. He grabs the glass, and clinks it again Hyungwon’s.

 

* * *

 

Rowdy drunks don’t make sense.

When Mark is drunk, he just wants to sit and do nothing except _be_ drunk. So he does, lazing on the corner of the couch in the living room. Most of the party has shifted outside, where someone’s started a game. Mark just watches the movie on T.V., too fucked up to read the subtitles, and too tired to try and hear the audio over the music from outside.

So he lays there, people watching, warm and content. Hyungwon went off somewhere with Wonho – if he had to take a guess, they’re probably fucking upstairs.

Another senior appears, sitting across from him, “Hey dude.”

“Amber,” Mark slurs with a half-wave.

“Are you drunk?” She laughs. “Wow. Can I take a picture? Peniel won’t believe me.”

“Fuck off,” Mark jokes. “When did you get here?”

Amber checks her phone, “A couple hours ago. I’m taking off though, Luna has work tomorrow.”

“Ah, okay. Sorry I missed ya’,” Mark waves, head flopping back against the couch. “Text me, I never see you.”

“I never see _you._ ” Amber teases, “Come out of your hobbit hole every so often.”

Mark snorts, and Amber laughs a goodbye, leaving to go hunt down her friends. Mark sighs, shifting up on the couch. That might be a good idea – where are his friends? The house isn’t that big.

He heaves himself up, dizzy from standing up too fast, but he gets his feet from under him and makes his way outside. It’s cooler out here. Mark leans up against the doorway, crossing his arms to watch people dance.  Bambam and Yugyeom aren’t dancing anymore, rather, they’re both passed out on the same lawn chair, curled up like kittens.

Mark smiles, and is half tempted to take a picture. He pulls out his phone, and reads a few texts from Youngjae. He apparently caught a ride home with a friend.

It’s almost one in the morning, but Mark kinda’ misses his friends. He thinks about calling Jackson, but decides against it, rather, turning on his heel to search for him. Idiot won’t answer his phone anyways.

Mark pops in a few doorways. He doesn’t see anyone of interest, and moves on, up the stairs. It takes a moment, but Mark makes it, holding onto the railing and hauling himself up the steps. Maybe Jackson will split an Uber cost with him – Mark just kinda’ wants to go home and eat real food.  Jinyoung and Jaebum are still nowhere to be found. Mark is too drunk to hunt them down too.

Mark peeks in the door of an upstairs room. It’s a home theater, with couches and a large television. There’s a few couples making out, and a few people actually watching the movie.

There’s a tuft of blonde hair in the back row, and Mark smiles, knowing that hair by the back of his hand. He opens his mouth to call to him – but Mark bites down on his lip, feet stopping short in the doorway.

Yes, it’s Jackson, but he’s wrapped around a girl, hands drawn up in brown hair.

Painted nails scrape down his neck, fingers smearing sweat down his chest. He kisses her with strength, and she kisses back, shifting forward to half climb into his lap.

It’s not that big of a deal. Mark has seen Jackson kiss lots people at parties, during dares and party tricks. He’s seen Jackson kiss his girlfriend. It’s not – it’s not a big deal-

It’s not.

Mark swallows hard, nails clawing into the doorway. He feels his heart drop, and his vision fog, as something gross and cold swallows him whole. His heart sinks to his feet, and Mark just…

He can’t control it. He’s not sober. His body doesn’t move. His eyes water over, and Mark swallows once more, as water drips down his cheek and off his chin.

Is he an emotional drunk? Apparently.

He just can’t help it. Memories of their friendship float before him. It's a tease, a taste, a look at what he's so close to, but can't have.

Silent tears pull from his eyes, one after another. It hurts. Jackson grips her hips and pulls her close and it hurts it hurts it _hurts._  His tongue licks into her mouth, as his hands gently caress every part of her, and Mark wants it so bad, that it stings, it burns. A part of Mark curls up and dies.

Mark can hardly feel the floor under his feet, so he’s not sure what causes Jackson’s head to whip his way. He might’ve sobbed.

“Oh my gosh,” Jackson gasps, nudging the girl off his lap. “Mark?!”

He runs.

 

Mark is not sure why, but he does anyways. He flies down the stairs, body pumping with adrenaline. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t fall, as he throws open the front door and books it.

He can hear Jackson running behind him, calling his name, but Mark doesn’t look back. He’s still crying and his chest is so tight he can’t breathe. He trips once, but keeps going, running up the neighborhood street to god-knows where.

Jackson’s footsteps are heavy behind him.

_“Mark! Mark, stop!-”_

Everything is a blur. Mark struggles to run faster.

He wipes at his eyes in an attempt to see where he’s going, but his cheeks are wet and his hands are shaking, and he trips again. It was dumb to think he could outrun Jackson, especially intoxicated, but it was worth a try.

A strong hand grips his forearm, and hauls Mark to a stop. His heartbeat rushes past his ears.

“Mark! Shit, dude,” Jackson heaves, “Are you- hah -are you- okay?”

“Let go,” Mark slurs, and then hiccups. “Let go.”

Jackson lifts a hand to his sticky cheek, and looks Mark over, eyes panicked. “Are you hurt?”

“Let _go!”_ Mark fights. He’s stronger than this, but Jackson’s other hand drops to his forearm, and keeps him still.

“You’re drunk,” Jackson declares, as Mark lets out an ugly sob. “Mark, you don’t drink.”

He sniffs, and feels gross. He needs tissues, but tries to wipe his nose off on his shoulder. “Go back.”

“Um, no.” Jackson deadpans. A car turns around the corner, and Jackson hauls them both out of the way. Mark wiggles and struggles, hiccupping and sniffing like a child. But it’s like a dam has shattered, and Mark just can’t stop. His breath catches in another cry, and Jackson pauses, turning to look at him.

“Oh…sweetheart..." he wipes Mark's cheeks with his thumbs, and Mark cries harder. “No no no! Okay, uh-“ Jackson tugs on his arm, “Come on, there’s a park up here.”

“I dun’ wanna’-“

“Too bad.” Jackson pulls, securing an arm around his waist. Mark covers his eyes with his hands, and lets Jackson lead them around the corner.

It’s dark. There’s a few streetlamps that illuminate the park – but it’s nothing fancy. Some trees, a playground. Sand. A swing set. It feels abandoned.

Jackson pulls them to a bench next to a water-fountain. Mark sits harshly, and hangs his face in his hands.

“Alright, okay,” Jackson slings an arm around Mark’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Jeez, I’ve never had to do this with you before.”

Mark muffles, “Then don’t.”

“Fuck off, I’m not leaving you.” Jackson pulls insistently, until Mark’s head is in the crook of his shoulder. Mark wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and takes deep breaths. He tries to stop crying. Jackson rubs his outer arm, “Why’d you run?”

Mark doesn’t answer.

“Alright. Are you okay?”

He nods, and hiccups.

“Doesn't look like it.”

“Then go away.”

“Why are you crying?”

“Stop,” Mark wipes his eyes. “Go back with, with that girl.”

“I don’t want to,” Jackson says lightly, and leans his head against Mark’s. “I’m fine right here, thank you.”

Everything is too much right now. Mark feels dizzy and sick. His chest hurts, his eyes sting. But Jackson is warm against him, and it makes Mark want to cry all over again. He feels safe, and he hates it.

Mark sniffs harshly, and rubs at his face, scrubbing away tear tracks. “I’m sad.”

Jackson’s voice is soft, “Why?”

Mark doesn’t answer, and Jackson doesn’t prod him.

“Can I make it better?”

“No.”

Jackson nods wordlessly. There’s a bat that flies by, circling around the streetlamp, and back into the trees. If Mark listens close enough, he can hear the bass from the party.

He’s not quite sure what he’s saying. He’s not sure of where he is. But he does mumble beneath his breath, right as his eyelids droop, red and sore.

Jackson perks up, “What was that?”

“Don’ kiss anyone else,” Mark says. His fingers pull and tug at the rips in his jeans, as he refuses to meet Jackson’s eye.

The tone of Jackson’s voice is strange, “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Mark pauses. He leans his head on Jackson’s shoulder. “I lied.”

“Did you?”

“I don’t want you to have another girlfriend,” Mark slurs, sniffing every so often.

There’s a pause. Crickets sing from the bushes.

Jackson hums, and resumes rubbing Mark’s arm through his sweatshirt.

“Okay.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

The sound of a coffeemaker stirs him awake.

Mark turns, faceplanting into the sheets, and groans. His body aches dully, but it's nothing compared to the headache he’s sporting.

It takes a moment to notice that these are not his sheets. Mark peeps open an eye – the sheets are grey, with little batman pillow cases. The realization that he’s in Jackson’s bed comes as more of a relief than anything. At least he didn’t go home with a stranger.

Mark closes his eyes and snuggles back into the blankets, just as the door is thrown open.

“Look who’s awake!” Jackson sings.

Mark recognizes the smell of coffee, and his eyes snap back open.

Jackson looks bright eyed and bushytailed, despite his rustled appearance. He’s sporting his signature no shirt and grey sweatpants look, holding two cups in his hands. He looks like a sixteen-year-old’s wet dream of a boyfriend. Hell, he’s  _Mark’s_ wet dream of a boyfriend. Wait, forget that.

Jackson takes a sip from one of the cups. Mark makes pathetic grabby hands towards the coffee, and Jackson laughs.

“No no, you get water, young man.”

Mark groans, and rolls away. This side of the bed is still warm, and it smells the most like Jackson. Mark presses his face into it.

“Hey, my bed, my rules. Now drink.”

“No.”

“I’ll make you, and you won’t like it.”

He sighs, and slowly brings himself to sit up. Mark sways a little, and fights the urge to throw up. He takes the water, and sips it unhappily. 

“Good boy,” Jackson teases. Mark glares back.

“My head hurts.”

“No kidding,” Jackson crawls onto the foot of the bed, and sits cross legged. A mug steams in his hands. “What happened?”

“Fucking Hyungwon.”

Jackson laughs, “Ahh. You were pretty out of it.”

Mark rubs his face, “Sorry…” He halts, “Wait. Did I say anything stupid?”

“Nope,” Jackson chirps.

“…Are you sure?”

“Trust me, if you said something stupid, I’d be the first to let you know.” 

“Ughhhh,” Mark sets the empty cup aside, and flops back into the pillows.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jackson pats his back. “ Do you need any Asprin?”

Mark shakes his head. He hesitates for a moment, breathing in against the Batman pillow. He eventually turns his head towards Jackson, and sees him still working on his coffee, eyes glazed over as he stares out the window.

“Hey.”

Jackson’s head whips over, “Hm?”

“Thanks.”

“What for?”

“For bringing me back.” Mark turns over in the sheets, and draws them over his nose. “For keeping me out of trouble.”

Jackson looks surprised. He snorts, and sets his mug on the bedside table.

“Like you haven’t done it for me a million times.”

Mark shrugs, “Whatever.”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, and it sounds kind of distant. “What are friends for?”

Mark doesn’t understand the shift in his tone. He looks Jackson over, but his face rests with a soft smile, so Mark doesn’t push it.

 

* * *

 

Something’s off. 

Jackson is being weird. But not. He’s acting strange? But totally normal.

Mark just can’t put his finger on it – but things are  _different._ Jackson looks at him differently. That makes no sense, but it makes sense to Mark.

At lunch, he catches Jackson staring. When they make eye contact, Jackson doesn’t flinch. He just offers a half smile, and goes back to eating.

It’s just weird.

But, this is Jackson. If something was wrong, Mark would be the first person he’d tell.

Right?

 

* * *

 

He has six textbooks spread around his bed, when there’s a knock on his bedroom door.

“Hello hello?” Jinyoung peeps in.

Mark looks up, and does nothing to hide how shitty he looks right now. He knows what he looks like - he can see his reflection in the mirror. Dark circles, wrinkled clothes, 5 o’clock shadow.

“Hi.”

“Can I come in?”

“You’re going to come in anyways, so sure.”

Jinyoung pushes his textbooks out of the way, and flops next to him, wrapping his arms around Mark’s torso as he lies down.

“How’s studying?”

Mark tilts his laptop away, and shrugs. He leans into Jinyoung’s arms.

“Fine.”

“You’ve been locked in here all week,” Jinyoung says. He’s being careful with his words.

“Yeah.”

“Have you been studying this whole time?”

“Pretty much.”

Jinyoung nods. He untangles himself from Mark, and props his arms behind his head, staring at Mark’s ceiling.

“Jackson said you ignored his calls.”

“Did I? I didn’t mean to.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mark rubs his face, “I’m just...out of it. Rough week.”

“That’s alright. He’s waiting outside, you know.”

Mark’s heartrate skyrockets. His back straightens, and he turns to look Jinyoung in the eye.

“He is??”

“No,” Jinyoung smirks. “But something is definitely up.” He gestures, “Spill, bitch.”

Mark sags, exhaling a hard breath in relief.

“You suck.”

“Is this about your crush?”

Mark snaps, “No!”

“So it is.”

“It’s not a crush.”

“Oh my god,” Jinyoung sits up. “Don’t fucking start with that shit again. You know you can talk to me.”

It’s Mark’s turn to flop back into the pillows. He buries his face, and softly screams. Jinyoung gives him a pat on the back.

“Did something happen?”

“I don’t know,” Mark muffles. He turns his face sideways, as Jinyoung continues to rub circles between his shoulder blades. “Things have been weird since the party.”

“Ooh. The one where you got fucked up?”

“Yeah,” Mark sighs. “I don’t remember what, but I know  _something_ happened. I-I can only remember bits and pieces, but…” Mark chews on his lower lip. “I remember him kissing some girl.”

Jinyoung’s face falls, “Oh.”

“I don’t know what happened after that,” Mark mumbles. “I’m worried I did something dumb. Jackson said I didn’t, but he might be playing nice.”

“He wouldn’t lie to you,” Jinyoung says seriously.

“I…I know.”

Jinyoung’s hand stills on his back. 

“So…?”

“I really don’t remember much…” Mark starts slowly. “Not after my sixth shot. But I can remember Jackson kissing her so clearly. I can remember her face and, and the way she sat in his lap. Like it was so emotionally traumatizing, that even drunk-me committed it to memory.”

“Oh Mark…” Jinyoung sighs, his hand drawing up into his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I'm a shitty person for being jealous anyways."

“I still think you should tell him how you feel.”

Mark snorts, “Not in this lifetime.”

“ _Mark,_ I’m serious.”

“Me too,” Mark turns, looking Jinyoung in the eye. “I know I don’t come off as the most genuine person, but the idea of fucking up ten years of friendship makes me physically sick.”

Jinyoung gestures wildly, almost angry, “Do you  _hear_ yourself? Do you really think  _ten_ years of friendship will go down the drain over  _honesty?”_

Mark sits back up, squaring his shoulders, “Yes.”

“The worst he can do is say no!”

“Maybe!” Marks voice raises, heat rushing down his neck, “But I’ll feel that way  _forever!_ And I’ll live every day knowing he doesn’t feel the same.”

Jinyoung backs off, body language shrinking under Mark’s unusually stern tone.

“Hyung, I’m sorry.”

Mark sags as well, voice dropping into a whisper, head dropping into his hands.

"At least this way I can lie to myself.”

“Is that really better? A life of false hope?”

Mark doesn’t answer.

Jinyoung sighs, slinking back into Mark’s personal space.

“I’m close with Jackson too, you know. I’ve known him just as long as you. I know it’s not my place, but I really, really think you should talk to him.”

Mark is tired of talking about this. He firmly says, “I can’t.”

Jinyoung chews on the inside of his cheek, before, swaying into Mark’s shoulder. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I’m happy,” Mark says. Jinyoung arches an eyebrow, and Mark continues, “Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

Jinyoung nods to himself, and looks off to a corner of the room. Jinyoung’s concern is touching - it makes Mark’s chest feel a little warm. Like he’s cared about.

“Okay…” Jinyoung finally says. “Do you want to watch a movie? You’ve been in your hobbit hole for way too long.” He reaches up to rub Mark’s cheek with his knuckles, “You’re growing a beard.”

Mark bats away his hand with a laugh, “What movie were you thinking?”

“I have bad Korean bootlegs for any film released in the past ten years.”

Mark laughs again, reaching up to shut his laptop closed. Jinyoung pulls him out into the living room, and the light is way brighter out here, but it makes Mark feel a lot better.

 

* * *

 

He hasn’t been to one of Jackson’s practices in a while. Mark’s shift usually ends minutes before his practice, so he tends to miss it.  

However, Mark took the day off today. He drove to the gym instead, hood pulled up around his head. It’s weird being at the school at night; it’s quiet. He pushes at the doors – and the sound of sneakers and metal clashing against metal rings through the hallways.

Mark has only stepped inside the college gym a handful of times, but it’s not that hard to navigate. It’s much like their high school gym, only larger.

The big auditorium seats are mostly empty. There’s a few people hanging out on the stands, watching as men and women in white suits and fencing masks dance along taped lines.

Mark can’t see Jackson – not with all their masks on – so he quietly climbs up the steps of the plastic stadium seats, and sits far away from everyone else.

It’s interesting to watch. They move so practiced, and with so much power. Swords clash almost too fast for Mark to follow.

There’s individual practice matches happening side by side – maybe six, seven rows. Mark still hasn’t found Jackson.

He nervously pulls out his phone, and texts Youngjae just to be sure. Low and behold, Youngjae texts back immediately, saying  _yes hyung, I watched him leave with his gear thirty minutes ago._

Just as he reads the texts, a few people take off their masks for a water break. Mark spots short blonde hair, and Jackson shakes his head, tucking his helmet under his arm. He’s talking to someone excitedly – the smile on his face is wide enough to make Mark smile.

Mark doesn’t do anything to make his presence known. He’s just sitting, watching; but the girl Jackson is talking to suddenly points to Mark and smiles, her lips moving, and Jackson’s head whips around.

Jackson beams. He has no shame in waving his arms and yelling, “Mark!!!”

Mark barely raises his hand for a short, embarrassed wave. Jackson begins to head over, but the coach calls them all aside. Jackson makes a  _later_ sign with his hand, and Mark waves knowingly, as if to say  _don’t worry about it._

Practice only goes on for twenty minutes longer, but it goes by quickly. Mark likes watching Jackson fence. He looks powerful – and he’s good too, winning a good majority of the time. He takes constructive criticism with a serious face, and it’s very, very cute.

They begin another practice round. Sabers clash quickly, but Jackson overpowers his opponent in three seconds flat, forcing them back with sheer force. He wins again, loses once, but wins once more – and when he takes off his helmet again, Mark swallows thickly.

Jackson can be goofy. It’s easy to forget how strong he is. Sweat runs down his neck, Jackson’s eyes dark and serious as he listens to his instructor – and Mark’s brain runs before he can catch up. He wonders, quickly, if Jackson could hold him against a wall.

What would he look like? Sweaty and dark eyed? Lips red and bitten?

Mark runs a hand through his hair and pulls, as if to tug the thought out of his head.

They disappear to the changing rooms. Mark stays busy on his phone, until Jackson comes bouncing up to the bottom of the stairs, duffel bag tucked under his arm. Mark shoves his phone in his pocket, and begins to step down the bleachers.

“Hey!”

“Hiya.”

Mark claps his hand in Jackson’s, and they pull each other in for a half hug.

“You did great.”

“Thanks! I didn’t know you were coming.”

Mark shrugs, “It was a last-minute decision.”

They begin walking towards the doors, taking their time with each step.

“I thought you had work.”

“I did, but I called in.”

Jackson frowns, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark waves him off. “I worked overtime last week, so I really didn’t need the hours.”

“Ahh,” Jackson nods. “Well, I’m happy you came by.”

It takes Mark a moment to realize Jackson is staring. His eyes are big and round and so chocolatey that Mark is forced to look away. His face heats, and he clears his throat.

“Did you drive here?”

“Nah. You know my apartment is right around the corner.”

“Mmm, right.” Mark holds open the door for him. “You wanna’ throw your bag in my trunk? I’m craving dumplings.”

“Sure,” Jackson grins. “Break my diet, why don’t you.”

Mark laughs, “I watched you eat a cookie cake by yourself last week.”

“That’s my cheat day! It doesn’t count!”

“I don’t think dumplings will hurt you,” Mark smiles. “But we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“No no no,” Jackson bounces off the curb, and towards the parking lot, “I want to. I didn’t eat before practice.”

Mark nods, and fishes out his keys. He clicks them twice, and his car lights glow in the distance. They walk to the car in silence. There’s crickets out tonight – a few students laugh distantly, but it grows silent, once they walk out of earshot.

 Jackson adjusts his bag on his shoulder, and stops right before the passenger door.

“Um.”

Mark pauses, hand reaching for the door handle.

“Hm?”

“I uh…” Jackson adjusts his bag once more. “When you….when we…um…”

Mark narrows his eyebrows, and leans around the hood to see his face.

“Yeah?”

Jackson suddenly laughs, “You know? Never mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m just hungry.”

Mark isn’t sure what to say. He watches Jackson pop the trunk, and sling his bag inside, clicking it shut without another word. He looks like he wants to say something else – but Mark doesn’t want to push. So he slips into the driver’s seat, and passes Jackson the aux chord when he slides in beside him.

Still, it eats at Mark’s stomach. Before he shifts the car into gear, he grips Jackson’s wrist, and forces his eye.

“You’re alright?”

Jackson looks surprised.

“Yes! Of course!” Jackson beams, “I don’t have to walk home tonight~ the stars are out~ and you’re here!” Jackson reclines the chair, and plugs in his phone, “Pretty choice evening if you ask me.”

Mark lets go, and nods.

“Okay.”

“I want to hear about you,” Jackson smiles. “How’s economics? How’s art history??"

"Ugh."

"Namjoon said that Shownu said that Hyungwon said you both had to cram for the midterm.”

Mark puts the car in reverse, and throws an arm over the back of Jackson’s headrest.

“Oh yeah. I pulled an 85 on that bitch.”

“Are you serious?!” Jackson cackles, “You haven’t shown up all semester!”

“My bullshitting skills should be both respected and feared.”

“That gives me anxiety dude,” Jackson turns down the music a little. “The idea of waiting until the last minute.”

“I wish I wasn’t a chronic procrastinator, but here we are.” Mark puts the car back in drive, and pulls out of the dead parking lot. “What about your midterms? You aced, right?”

Jackson lets out a laugh – he goes on a long tangent about his professor, throwing his arms about so hard, he smacks his knuckle against the window and curses. Mark nearly slams on the breaks from laughing so hard.

 

* * *

 

With midterms done and over with, there’s a long weekend before classes start back up again.

Youngjae and Jackson mulled over the idea of hosting a party – with much encouragement from the maknaes – but decided against it, seeing as they have less than ideal floorspace. They figure someone will throw one; and sure enough, someone does.

“BTOB,” Jaebum says, over his breakfast, scrolling through their group chat. “Did you see that?”

Mark sleepily rubs his eyes, pouring cereal into a bowl. “Wait, the frat? I haven't looked at my phone.”

“Yeah,” Jaebum chews. “It’s a bit of a drive, but Eunkwang invited us.”

“Shit, I should text Peniel.”

“Yeah, aren’t you two friends?”

“Haven’t seen him all quarter, but yes,” Marks slides next to Jaebum at the table.

“Are you going?”

“I won’t drink,” Mark says quickly. “Not after last time.”

Jaebum shortly laughs, and shovels rice into his mouth. “That’s fine. I don’t think I will either. You didn’t see me at Hyungwon’s party, did you?”

“No, but I heard rumors.”

“Rumors are kinder,” Jaebum snorts. “Jinyoung claims I was a handful.”

Jinyoung barks from the bedroom,  _“Because you were!”_

Jaebum doesn’t react, and Mark sleepily laughs. He checks his phone for details – all of which Bambam is spamming them with. He’s not sure why Bambam knows so much about this party, but his petite little ass has been networking like crazy, and Mark is pretty sure he knows more people than Mark by now.

They don’t get much of a heads up; the party is that night, but Mark doesn’t really care. He’s finished all his work, and he doesn’t have a shift tomorrow, and he’s kinda’ getting antsy laying around the apartment. It’s a rare feeling, but it does happen.

Jaebum and Mark end up being the designated drivers that night. Two cars are usually safer than one – if someone needs to go home, nobody gets accidentally stranded at the party. It’s happened. Mark was less than thrilled.

Anyways, Mark agrees to pick up the babies, only because he saw Jackson’s outfit on snapchat, and he’s not mentally ready for that yet. He’s wearing the black jeans with the rips way, way too high up his thighs. Youngjae has nicknamed them the Jesus Jeans, because rumor has it, if you stare long enough, you might find Jesus in Jackson’s thighs.

Bambam and Yugyeom are little chatterboxes as soon as they enter Mark’s four door, but it’s not unwelcomed. They ramble about classes and clubs. Yugyeom is thinking about switching to a dance major, and Mark very much encourages him to.

Yugyeom navigates them through the streets – and through a McDonalds – until they see Jaebum’s car parked around the corner. They park nearby, and walk the short distance.

Already, Mark can tell it’s a much more intimate party than before. There’s a bouncer, but it’s not really a  _bouncer,_ because it’s just their friend Shownu who’s probably getting paid in free booze.

“Hey,” Mark nods, Bambam and Yugyeom stepping in before them.

“What’s up,” Shownu claps his hand and shakes it. “Peniel wants you to find him.”

“Alright.”

He follows in behind the maknaes. There’s people playing games, and drinking casually. There’s music, but it’s not too loud. People sit on the steps, and the couches. There’s a pool outside, but it’s the middle of winter, and way, way too fucking cold to swim. People sit on lawn chairs instead, the pool lights a good mood maker.

He spots Peniel already talking with Jackson in the kitchen.

“Hyung!" Jackson waves.

“Hey.”

True to fruition, Jackson looks fucking gorgeous. He got an undercut the other day, and god fucking damn, is it working for him. But Mark won’t tell him that. 

“Yooo, you made it,” Peniel says in English. “I haven’t seen you in years, dude.”

Mark grins, “About three months, yeah.”

“Jackson was just telling me about which bars ya’ll go to.” He slaps Mark’s shoulder, “I didn’t know you were into that stuff, or I’d invite you out more.”

“I have an expensive taste,” Mark teases. “I’m not a cheap club hoe.”

“Ahh,” Peniel laughs. “You want VIP status.” 

“Only the best.”

“I tried to get him to come to a strip club with me once,” Jackson says. “He totally refused.”

Peniel gasps, laughing, “No! Don’t tell me you’re a  _prude._ ”

Mark shoves at his side, fighting off a smile, “ _No._ I just don’t find that fun.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Peniel laughs. “You know, I’m friends with Taehyung. He says you kiss like no joke.”

Jackson leans up against the counter top, focusing on pouring himself a drink.

Mark shrugs, and takes a soda when Jackson offers him one.

“I guess.”

“Prove to me you’re not a prude, and I’ll take you to a strip club for  _free,_ ” Peniel points.

Mark rolls his eyes and laughs, “Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check on that.”

“Prove he’s not a prude?” Jackson laughs. “What does that even mean?”

“I wanna’ see  _hoe_ Mark,” Peniel cackles. “Go out in the living room, rip apart your shirt and slut drop.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” Mark snorts, “But you know who would do it?” He jabs his thumb at Jackson. Jackson nods thoughtfully.

Peniel scoffs, “Dude, I know Jackson would do it. That’s not exciting. We sat next to each other in Calc and you said two words to me all quarter. I’d pay serious cash to see you turning it up at a club.”

“Okay, but he’s a good dancer,” Jackson says.

Mark tries to cover his mouth with his hand, hissing, “Shhhh!!!”

Peniel gasps, “Is he really?”

“Yeah! He does this cute little thing with his hips-“

“Alright, I’m leaving, bye,” Mark turns on his heel, leaving Peniel and Jackson laughing behind him. They try to call him back, but Mark sees Youngjae and both Minhyuks talking out by the pool, so he decides to go hang with them.

 

* * *

 

It’s been fun, so far.

Mark has enjoyed just listening in to conversations, laughing every now and then. A decent amount of people have left – but there’s still a good twenty that sprawl around the house. It’s a nice evening, despite the cold from outside.

At some point, a group had gathered in the living room. Mark followed along, and perched on a bean bag, only because the commotion was too much to pass up.

It started with a game of charades, with somehow turned into spin the bottle, which somehow turned into a mixed game of charades, spin the bottle, and truth or dare.

Two hats sit on the floor, both filled with torn paper strips. One hat is full of charade prompts, and the other is full of shitty dares. From what Mark has gathered, if no one guesses your charade, you have to pull from the dare hat.

Jungkook is currently at the mercy of this game – Yugyeom and Bambam throw out guesses left and right.

“A lawn mower!”

“Uh, watering plants!”

Jungkook shakes his head, and makes another odd motion.

“Brushing a cat? Dude, I don’t know.”

Jackson leans back up against the sofa and squints from the floor, “Umm, folding clothes?”

“Ironing? Ironing clothes?” Mark guesses.

Jungkook gasps, “You got it!”

“Fuck you, that was an easy one,” Peniel pouts from the other team.

“Who wrote in  _Ironing clothes?_ That’s boring as fuck.”

“My turn,” a girl reaches for the hat. Mark can’t quite remember her name. Something with a J. Joohee? Jen? Jimin?

“Joy, your turn.”

Fuck, Joy. Mark was close.

She pulls from the hat, and hides the paper away with a sigh. Hyungwon sets a timer, (Mark isn’t quite sure when he got here) and Joy begins to mime above her head.

“Oh, oh uh,” Peniel points, “Rain. It’s raining.”

“A hat?”

“Flying? Bird? Magic carpet?”

“Uh, bird hat?”

Joy scoffs, “What? No?”

“You can’t talk!” Bambam yelps, a little slurred.

Jackson is laughing hysterically as she mimes, rocking back and forth like a kid -  and Mark starts watching him, more than the girl.

She gestures again, and Amber from the opposing team shouts, “Wiggling? Wiggling bird?”

“Singing bird?”

“The Chupacabra!”

“Are you kidding me?”  

“Time’s up,” Hyungwon says, and Joy sags.

“It was Aladdin, dammit.”

Sungjae sits back, “Oh. I’ve never seen that.”

“You’ve never seen Aladdin?” Mark, Amber, and Peniel say at the same time.

“No?”

“We’re watching that later,” Peniel points. “Alright Joy, pick a dare.”

She pouts, slinking up to the hat, and pulling out a piece of paper. She reads it and gasps, “No! No no no-“

“What is it?”

“"L...Lick the bottom of Bambam’s foot.”

“What the fuck? Hahaha, who wrote that?”

“Me,” Hyungwon sits proudly, from the opposite couch. 

“Dude, you’re in luck,” Bambam sticks his leg up in the air. “I take  _great_ care of my feet.”

“That’s so gross! I can’t, I can’t,” Joy squirms. 

“Don’t give up,” Amber pats her shoulder. “You know what the consequence is, right?”

Joy covers her eyes and whines. Bambam takes off his shoe, and Mark takes a sip from his drink. She does actually lick his foot, but not without gratuitous amounts of screaming and flailing. Yugyeom and Jungkook have to hold Bambam’s leg, because he keeps kicking when it tickles.

When all is said and done, Sungjae asks, “Who’s next?”

“It’s Jackson,” Yugyeom sings.

“Oh shit, really?”

“Yeah dude, pick a charade.”

Mark suddenly looks back up from his phone, very interested. Youngjae wanders in from nearby, and sits down at Mark’s bean bag.

“What’s going on in here?’

“You don’t really want to know,” Mark answers. Youngjae makes a face.

“Motherfucker....” Jackson reads his prompt, and shoves it in his back pocket. The action draws Mark’s eyes – shit, those are some tight jeans. Whenever his shirt rides up, Mark can see the muscles of his lower back, and it makes Mark’s head spin.

Jackson begins to charade towards his group. Something about jumping up and down. Thats not distracting at all. 

“Uh, a boxer?”

“Punching?” Bambam guesses, tying his shoe. “Karate.”

Jackson shakes his head. He makes weird motions with his legs, and his arms, nearly hitting Peniel in the face. Mark would be trying to guess, but Jackson’s sweater rolls up every time he jumps, and it’s just really fucking hot, okay.

“Dancing?”

“T.V? Watching? Sitting? Uh, uh-“

“Watching a dance on T.V.?”

“Working out?” Mark guesses. Jackson makes a noise, and Hyungwon gives them a ten second warning. Jackson gets frantic.

“Uh! Uh uh-“

“Martial arts?”

Amber makes a buzzing noise, and Jackson falls to his knees dramatically.

“Dammit! Fuck!”

“Dude, I have no idea,” Yugyeom blinks. “It wasn’t marital arts?”

“It was Tae-Bo!”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

Mark makes an  _ahhhhh_ noise, and Peniel and Amber laugh.

“Okay, who the fuck put that in there?” Jackson turns, angrily. “That’s so not fair, we live in Korea. Nobody here is gonna’ know what that is.”

“That was me,” Peniel cackles.

“That was good, Gaga,” Mark says. “You had the leg work down.”

Jackson wails, “Then why didn’t you  _guess it?!”_

“What’s Tae-Bo?” Youngjae frowns.

“An old exercising program on VCR. It was popular in the 90’s.”

 “Ahh.”

“Alright, Hyung,” Jungkook passes the hat. “ _Your turn._ ”

Jackson doesn’t look too upset about it. However, Jackson will do just about anything. He digs into the penalty hat, and pulls out a paper. His mouth opens, and closes.

“What’s it say?” Yugyeom peeps.

“Jackson?” Amber grins. “What is it?”

Jackson sighs, “Kiss the person next to you.”

Joy looks up, blinking.

Mark feels his throat dry. He tries not to look jealous, but he can feel Youngjae’s stare. Mark turns back to his phone, and pretends to be uniterested.

Peniel rolls his eyes, “Dude, that’s so easy.” 

“Seriously? How uncreative.”

Joy doesn’t look too upset about it – but Jackson, surprisingly, looks hesitant.

“Who wrote that?” Bambam rolls his eyes. “This is like, sixth grade.”

“I pass,” Jackson suddenly says, rendering the room quiet.

Mark’s head snaps up.

“Uh,” Peniel blinks, “What.”

“I pass,” Jackson says louder. “I’ll do the punishment.”

“Jackson…” Amber stares, “Are you serious? It’s just a kiss.”

“She licked Bambam’s foot,” Jackson says, standing up. “No thanks.”

Mark is rendered silent, eyes wide as saucers. None of this makes sense – Jackson has never, ever backed out of a dare. Ever.

“You’ve licked the bathroom floor!” Yugyeom barks. “What does it matter?”

“Can’t do it,” Jackson wipes his hands on his jeans. “Sorry Joy, nothing personal.”

Joy pouts, and says nothing. She looks embarrassed.

“Alright then…” Sungjae stands too, grinning. “Let’s go outside.”

Mark suddenly remembers the punishment dare.

“No no no, wait,” Mark shoots to his feet. “Don’t do this.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jackson says.

“It’s below freezing!” Mark argues. He turns to Peniel, “Guys don’t, don’t-“

They’re already ushering Jackson outside. He strips from his clothes, down to his boxers, along the way. Mark tries to gather the clothing as it falls, but he’s pushed from the crowd, as they chant and cheer.

Mark goes into full blown panic mode.

“Don’t!” Mark scrambles, pushing past bodies – but they’re moving too fast, people flooding to the backyard to watch Jackson get thrown in the pool. Mark can hear his heartbeat in his ears, and feels a hole gage into his chest. Youngjae tries to hold him back, but Mark tears past him. “Stop!”

They’re lifting him up, chanting drunkenly. Mark sees Yugyeom trying to stop them as well – but there’s more people here than before, and Mark can’t do a damn thing.

“He’s  _drunk!”_ Mark spits, “Stop!”

They throw him in anyways. It’s cold enough to see their breath, and Jackson goes completely under. There’s loud cheering, but it’s lost to Mark’s ears. He scrambles to the edge, Yugyeom and Youngjae not far behind.

“Hell yeah! Go Hyung!” Bambam cheers. Yugyeom turns to smack him upside the head. “Ow! What-“

Jackson’s body hits the bottom of the pool. Mark is completely prepared to jump in after him – but Youngjae grips the back of his shirt.

"Don't!-"

Jackson resurfaces. Mark can finally breathe.

He’s shivering, barely able to swim to the edge. He chants curses. His lips are blue, his skin growing pale. He's smiling anyways.

The crowd slowly shifts back to the inside.

“Jackson, you’re the man!” Peniel cheers.

“You’re a dick,” Mark snaps.

“Dude, it ain’t that cold.”

Mark turns on a dime, scooping the freezing water into his hands, and splashing it in Peniel’s face. Peniel runs away screeching.

Jackson shakily reaches the pool ladder. He’s shivering, barely making it up the stairs. Yugyeom extends an arm to help him, but Jackson falls. Mark’s heart drops to his feet, as he sees Jackson utterly shred his arms and knees along the rough poolside. Yugyeom gasps.

“Out of the way,” Mark shoves, pulling Jackson up with arm strength he didn’t know he had.

“I have his clothes,” Youngjae says. “Holy shit what-“

Bambam suddenly appears with a towel, looking guilty. Mark takes it from him, and wraps it around Jackson’s shoulders.

“Ah, th-th-that was c-c-c-old,” Jackson laughs.

“Jackson, your arms,” Mark says in a forced tone.

“What?”

Jackson doesn’t even notice the blood dripping to the floor.

“Shit,” Youngjae looks him over. “Can you feel that?”

“F-f-f-eel what?”

“I’m taking him home,” Mark says, pulling Jackson against him, trying to warm him.

“I’ll go with you,” Bambam sniffs.

“Yeah, me too.”

“No,” Mark helps Jackson towards the door. “You guys stay. It’s still early.”

“I feel bad,” Bambam says, almost teary eyed.

“I-I-I’m fine, d-dude,” Jackson grins. “Let m-me get dressed and I’m g-g-good to go-“

Mark ignores him completely.

“Youngjae, tell Jinyoung and JB that we’re headed back.”

Youngjae nods, “Okay.”

“You’re okay, hyung?”

“Yep!” Jackson chirps, but his legs fall out from under him, and he nearly hits his head on the doorway.

Yugyeom helps Mark maneuver Jackson into the car. He’s shivering too hard to get him into his skinny jeans, but they throw his shirt back on, and crank up Mark’s car heater. They find an extra blanket in the trunk, and wrap him in that too. Yugyeom doesn’t look happy being left behind – but Mark would feel bad if  _everyone_ had to leave early.

However, that isn’t Mark’s priority. His priority is Jackson, who’s shivering horrifically, eyelashes stuck together with frozen water. He’s chilled, teeth chattering despite the boiling heat of the car.

Mark sweats as he drives. Jackson isn’t talking, which isn’t good.

“How are your arms?” Mark drives.

“Arms?” Jackson laughs, “F-Fine. Can’t feel ‘em.”

That’s good. Great. Thanks guys. Thanks for throwing Mark’s best friend in a pool in the middle of winter.

He speeds to his apartment, because he knows JB keeps a first aid kit behind the sink. It takes a while to get Jackson through the door, and into the bathroom, but it happens. He keeps tripping, dead weight in Mark’s arms; he greatly regrets not going with Jackson to the gym every week.

The first thing Mark does is force Jackson out of his freezing boxers. Jackson is suddenly shy, “N-No, no-“

But Mark doesn’t have time for that shit. He tears the boxers off, immediately wrapping Jackson in a big fluffy robe , and sticking a hot blow dryer in his face.  _Fuck_ his skin is so, so cold.

 Jackson gets blood on the white robe, but it’s fine. Mark disappears to stick a teapot on the stove, and hunts down that first aid kit.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson says. His voice is rough, but not trembling. Mark can hardly hear him over the blow dryer. His lips aren’t blue anymore. That’s good.

“I’m making you tea,” Mark says, directing the blow dryer to Jackson’s damp hair. Jackson stays quiet, sitting atop the lid on the toilet.

Mark kneels on Jackson’s cold, discarded towel, and unwraps the first aid kit. He pushes aside the robe, and tsks at the scrapes all along Jackson’s knees. They’re pretty gnarly, but not hospital worthy.

The bathroom is silent, now that the blowdryer is off. You can hear the drip from the shower, and the hum of the teapot in the kitchen. Jackson is staring at him, but Mark doesn’t look up.

Mark wipes away the blood on his knees, and sprays it with antibiotic. Jackson hisses, as Mark hunts for a band aid big enough to cover the bad areas.

“Sorry,” Mark mumbles.

“No,” Jackson sniffs. “I’m sorry you had to leave early.”

Mark doesn’t answer at first. He slowly peels away the bandage, carefully covering the worse area. He’s slow in reaching for Jackson’s arms. It almost feels intimate; but Mark is overwhelmed. Worried sick, upset and embarrassed.

Mark finally speaks, as he wipes the blood from Jackson’s right arm.

“Why did you do that?”

“What?”

“Why did you let them throw you in the pool?” Mark wipes carefully, slowly. He sprays once more, and Jackson hisses.

“I-It was the punishment.”

“I know!” Mark barks. “You could’ve gotten seriously hurt! You’re going to get sick!” Mark holds up Jackson’s arm, “Look at this!”

Jackson shies under his words, and Mark backs off, retracting back to his knees. He runs a hand through his hair, and sighs. His breath drops to a whisper, but it’s still too loud, for the prickly silence of the bathroom. Mark hates the words. They come out like ice.

 “Why didn’t you just kiss her?”

 Jackson answers without question, without waver, eyes bearing right into Mark’s.

“Because you told me not to.”

Mark feels his breath clog in his throat. The floor drops beneath his knees. His tongue sticks to his mouth, as he stutters, “W-What?”

“You told me not to.” Jackson says, seriously. “You told me not to kiss anyone.”

His hands are shaking. His body feels hot. Mark’s chest feels too small for his lungs, and his ears burn red. It’s quiet, it’s so quiet.

“You’re drunk,” Mark whispers.

“Not anymore,” Jackson answers, just as softly. “But you were.”

And suddenly, like a train, Mark is hit with memories. Of Jackson kissing that girl, at that party. Of him cradling her face. Of that dark, bubbling hole in Mark’s chest. Of tears, spilling down his chin – of running and hands and Jackson and  _oh my-_

“Fuck.”  Mark covers his mouth.

“I haven’t kissed anyone since then,” Jackson says, fingers delicately tracing the scratches on his right arm.

Mark can’t breathe. He swallows thickly, and takes a deep breath, trying to force his breath steady.

“I was…it was just nonsense.” Mark’s voice shakes, “You shouldn’t have taken it so seriously.”

Jackson shrugs. His eyes are glazed over, and almost sad. Mark wants to cry.

“Maybe.”

“Fuck, Jackson. If I told you to jump off a bridge, would you?”

“You know – you –“ he sits closer, lifting a hand towards Mark’s head, until cold fingers fall at his neck. “You know you mean everything to me, right?”

Mark closes his eyes.

“Gaga.”  

“I’m sorry,” Jackson says, voice too full for this tiny bathroom. “But I think I’ve been in love with you for a really long time.” Those fingers slip away, as Jackson breathes. “So yeah. If you told me to jump off a bridge, I probably would.”

It takes Mark a moment to process that. But his body moves before his mind, skin itching with the need to act.

Mark leans up on his knees. Plants one hand on Jackson’s thigh for leverage, and uses the back of Jackson’s neck to haul himself high enough – just high enough – to press their lips together in a hard, long kiss.

He feels Jackson’s breath hitch. Jackson immediately catches him, cold hands coming beneath his arms for support, fingers digging hard as he kisses back.

There’s an emotional compression chamber inside Mark’s chest – something that’s built for years and years. It’s manifested, grown, boiled into something hot and scalding. And Mark lets it all go, through a hard, dry sob, and a desperate scramble to be closer.

Jackson’s lips aren’t cold. They’re chapped from the pool, and a little bitten – but they’re  _Jackson’s._ They’re his, and they’re shaking just as much as Mark’s.

Mark digs his nails into the back of Jackson’s hair, and kisses that mother fucker like he’s always wanted to. Noses pressed together, lips scrambling to build some kind of rushed, desperate rhythm. He tastes like pool water and alcohol, and it’s never been so sweet.

Mark pulls away to give Jackson a hard shove. He pushes at his chest, their lips popping apart. Jackson looks shell shocked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Mark barks, sitting back and rubbing at his eyes. “You fucker. You knew I liked you.”

“I didn’t!” Jackson defends, and he sounds breathless. “It could’ve been nonsense, for all I knew.”

Mark rolls his eyes, “Right.”

“Seriously! Don’t you remember in high school, when you got drunk and went on a two-hour rant about how you wanted to be an astronaut?”

“…I’m claustrophobic,” Mark notes.

“Exactly.”

Mark rubs at his eyes, tongue running back across his lips. He looks up at Jackson. His arms have stopped bleeding, but his lips are blood red, hair tousled and fluffy. He looks just as nervous as Mark feels.

Realization dawns on him.

Mark stares, “You love me?”

“Of course,” Jackson answers immediately. He touches his lips, wide eyed. “Do…do you…”

“I’ve been in hell,” Mark says honestly. He speaks from the heart, already rubbed raw. “I thought you’d never feel the same.”

“Ahhhhhh,” Jackson clutches his chest, squirming, “My heart hurts. Does your heart hurt?”

Mark cracks a smile, “Yes.”

The teapot from the kitchen begins to scream. Mark slowly begins to rock to his feet, aching a little.

“Ah, I, I can get it-“

“No,” Mark runs a hand through his hair, now standing. “Go find some clothes in my closet. We need to bandage the rest of your arms.”

He turns to walk out the door, to hush the whistling of the teapot- but Jackson grips his wrist harshly, and pulls until Mark is looking at him.

“Wait, wait-“ He swallows. “Um. What does this mean?”

Mark takes a minute to mull it over. He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, before he smiles and shrugs.

“I dunno’.”


	4. Chapter 4

He nearly trips over the lip of the carpet. Mark rights himself, but is tugged back once more, this time, not by a rug.

“Hey hey hey hey-“ Jackson’s grip is iron around Mark’s wrist, “-wait, wait.”

Mark halts. “What?”

“Youngjae!” Jackson holds up his phone, “Take a picture of us.”

“Oh my god, are you serious?” Mark rubs his face. They were so, so close to making it out the door. Jackson took forever to do his hair. 

“Aww, babies’ first date,” Jinyoung coos.

“First Date my ass. They’ve been dating since middle school.”

 “Get our angles, Youngjae.”

Youngjae nods, taking Jackson’s phone and opening the camera. “Where do you want to take it?”

Mark says, “Nowhere. We’re gonna’ miss the play.”

“Psh, it’s at the school, we have plenty of time,” Jackson pulls and tugs, until they’re standing by the white wall and Jaebum's dying house plant. Jackson throws an arm around Mark’s shoulders, and makes a peace sign. “Say cheese.”

“It’s a shame we don’t have stairs,” Jaebum mulls from the kitchen barstool. “You could do those super cheesy prom poses.”

That gets a laugh out of Mark. He was nervous about tonight – something about the words ‘ _First Date’_ are kind of intimidating, but Jaebum is right. They’ve been best friends since middle school, and this is  _Jackson_. He’s seen Mark at his ugliest, and vice versa. Mark sees right through the hairspray, and the tight jeans – and sees a crooked, toothy smile that makes his heart hurt.

Jackson gasps, and immediately turns to do the ‘prom date’ pose, “Like this?”

“No,” Mark snorts. He turns his back towards Jackson, and adjusts Jackson’s arms until they’re around his waist. “Like this.”

Jinyoung and Jaebum are cackling. Youngjae snaps a million pictures, moving to different angles.

“Yes, bitch, yes. Give me face, give me vogue.”

Mark feels his nerves ebb away as he laughs. Jackson and Mark prop their hands on their hips, changing their poses every few seconds.

“Yes! You’re perfect, you’re beautiful, you're Linda Evangelista, you’re a model-“

Jinyoung laughs, “Alright, alright. Let them go, or they’ll actually be late.”

“Thanks mom,” Jackson grins, and gets his phone back from Youngjae. “We’ll be back by eleven.”

“His curfew is at ten thirty,” Jaebum jokes. Mark snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Stay safe. Don’t talk to strangers.”

“Always stay a bible length apart.”

“- and leave room for god, and the holy spirit.”

 “For real though,” Youngjae bounces back on the couch, cutting off JB and Jinyoung, “Congrats guys.”

“Yeah, fucken’ finally.”

Mark smiles, “Thanks.”

“Alright! See ya’!” Jackson grips Mark’s hand once more, and pulls. Mark trips after him – Jackson laces their fingers together, and Mark giggles, later to his own embarrassment.

This date was a long time coming. Jackson was sick for two weeks after that pool incident, and Mark can't help but feel giddy - now that this is actually happening. 

Someone shouts after them, and slams the door, but Mark doesn’t hear.

Instead Mark laughs, jogging to keep up with Jackson’s pace. “Aren’t you nervous?”

“Of course!” Jackson beams. “But then I remembered you’ve seen me upchuck hot Cheetos all over myself, so, I figure it can’t get much worse than that.”

“Not only did I see it,” Mark says, “I’m the one that cleaned you up.”

Jackson squeezes his fingers, “You took very good care of me.”

“I was actually more concerned than disgusted. I can count the times you’ve been sick on one hand." Jackson opens the car door for him, and Mark slides into the passenger seat. “Thanks.”

Jackson clicks his seatbelt, adjusts his mirror, and peels out of the parking lot. “I’m so excited!"

“I can tell,” Mark replies. He holds onto the side handles out of habit – Jackson drives wild and fast, but with the precision of someone who’s familiar behind the wheel.

“Seriously. I know we’ve done literally everything together, but this time I can pretend to yawn and throw my arm your shoulder. And like, throw popcorn at your face during the intermission.” Jackson sticks out his tongue, hands sliding along the wheel as he turns.

“You already do that,” Mark says, coming to a crushing realization.

“Oh my god, you’re right. What’s exactly changed here?”

“I can play hard to get,” Mark jokes. “Feed me and tell me I’m pretty.”

Jackson points, “Done and done."

Mark doesn’t feel anxious anymore. Jackson is dressed cute tonight; dark jeans, fluffy jacket and a scarf. Mark just wants to wrap his arms around him and cuddle his little face.

However, Jackson being Jackson – Mark feels personally offended by the glances he steals in between stoplights. Where he runs his teeth across his bottom lip, and stares hotly into the side of Mark’s face.

Mark is insistent about opening Jackson’s car door this time, and Jackson acts like a swooning maiden. He might not be acting, who knows.

They’re not doing anything too special tonight. True, it’s just a play put on by the school’s wackjob theater kids – but it has a sick, twisted kind of humor, that makes Mark and Jackson laugh the loudest.

The play doesn’t really matter. They could be watching Cats, for all Mark cares – he rather enjoys Jackson’s insistence on holding his hand. He doesn’t sit still, thumb tapping across Mark’s knuckles, head occasionally coming to lean against his shoulder. Their arms are pressed together, and if they could be closer, they probably would be.

Holding hands seems so trivial, until you’re doing it with the person you adore. Then it’s  _everything._ It’s the world, right there,  _right there! In your hand!_ It’s silly, but Mark takes the time to appreciate it.

They go out for fast food afterwards. They split a basket of fries, and talk about school, and it feels like every other time they’ve hung out, except Mark doesn’t have to act nonchalant as Jackson talks. He’s free to lean his head in one hand, and stare lovingly at the one dimple that pops in Jackson’s cheek as he smiles.

Maybe they’re a little lackluster, but that’s fine. Mark likes it that way. This means the world to him.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, but consider it,” Jackson sways. “It’s way, way worse.”

“Consider  _what?”_ Mark manages, with a laugh. “Start over.”

“Alright, okay. With no pants, you’re just half-naked, right?”

“Right.”

“And with no clothes, you’re just-  _naked,_ right?”

“…Right.”

“And now imagine yourself  _just_ wearing shoes. You feel  _more_ naked!”

Mark opens his mouth, thinks about it more, and stops walking on the pavement to laugh. “Oh my god.”

“Right?!”

“I’m having a crisis.”

Jackson pulls on his hand to tug them out of the way of a passing car. “I told you! It’s like- it’s worse. It’s worse than just being naked.”

“In what situation would you  _just_ be wearing shoes?”

“Oh let me tell you-“

“You know what,” Mark starts, “I don’t want to know. How did we get here again?”

“By car?”

“The  _conversation,_ Jackson.”

“Well, I brought up the guy on my fencing team who has one nipple and you wanted to know why I knew about it and I said-“

“Ah, right,” Mark snorts.

He’s not sure where they’re walking. It’s dark out, and there’s not much to look at, here at night. He can hear the distant rush of the river, and the hum of the street lamps. But it’s nice weather, and Jackson’s hand feels soft in his. Jackson’s car is parked back up the hill, and Mark won’t enjoy climbing that later, but he thinks, maybe, he can get Jackson to carry him, if he bats his eyelashes enough.

“So…” Jackson swings their hands. “What do you think?”

“Of what? The guy with one nipple?”

“Of our date, ding dong.”

“Ah,” Mark clears his throat. “I dunno’. Good. Eight out of ten.”

“ _Just_ an eight?” Jackson gasps, scandalized. “What’d I do wrong?”

“You haven’t kissed me yet,” Mark’s mouth says, way before his brain can filter it. He doesn’t mean to be smooth; it’s just deadpan honesty. Jackson’s eyebrows shoot upwards, and Mark coughs once. 

“Oh? Would I get a ten then?”

“Maybe,” Mark kicks a pebble, and it bounces into the road. “You still have to walk me to my door.”

The hand in his slips, and squeezes around his wrist, pulling Mark with a strong jerk, and tugging him backwards. Mark would’ve tripped, if not for Jackson’s arm bracing around his waist.

Jackson tucks him away, towards the wall of a grocery store, under a low neon  _open_ sign, and kisses him, like it’s the fucking Sound of Music.

Mark’s mouth opens in a gasp, inhaling against his lips.

He kisses like Mark remembers. Focused and determined, with an infinite amount of fondness. Mark tugs away, hands bracing to Jackson’s chest. He’s panicking  for multiple reasons.

“Don’t. Were in public-“

“Nobody’s here,” Jackson cradles the side of his face, and fuck _,_ Mark feels a part of himself die. “What are you, a weenie?”

Mark stares straight into his eyes, mustering the most deadpan look he can, knowing he’s blushing. Jackson’s eyes reflect the store lights behind them.

Jackson smiles, “Come on. I’m aiming for a ten.”

He doesn’t move until Mark does. Mark trails his fingers along the shaved hair on his neck, and up into the longer, softer strands. His hair is smooth, despite the bleach; Mark already knew this, but somehow, it’s different now. Jackson kisses him again, and this time Mark has half the mind to kiss back, and it’s so long and short and overwhelming that Mark can’t remember it. So he kisses him again, and focuses this time. On how Jackson smells and tastes and how tingly Mark feels – and yes. Yes. There’s no fireworks; but it’s something else. Something more than nothing. It’s kinda’ hurried, but that’s fine. Jackson’s hand tightens on his waist; Mark gives a breathy sigh, and Jackson smiles against his lips – and a car turns around the corner.

They pull apart to avoid suspicion. The headlights come and go, illuminating the sidewalk between them briefly. They stay where they are, thumbs in beltloops, the toes of their shoes touching.

“Nine out of ten,” Mark says.

Jackson blows a kiss.

Mark scoffs, and starts walking again. “Eight and a half.”

“Wait!  Wait-“

 

* * *

 

It’s weird calling Jackson his boyfriend. Not that it sounds bad. It’s just odd. Rather, Mark likes it too much. The way the word tastes. Mark wants to go around and say it all the time –  _my boyfriend my boyfriend –_ so he never says it, out of fear of horribly embarrassing himself. 

But Jackson has no fear, slinging an arm around his shoulder and walking him to class without shame. Maybe too shameless. But Mark doesn't worry any longer.

Bambam is staring at them from across the table. He’s not eating, just staring, eyebrows pushed together, pouting. He dyed his hair red last week. He swirls a finger around a strand. Pouts. Stares.

Mark ignores him, until Bambam shifts his head into his other hand and sighs. Mark turns to snap, “What?”

“I thought it’d be way more cringey.” Bam says, squinting. “You two. Like, aren’t you gonna’ be all lovely-dovey?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know. Star crossed lovers. A lifetime of pining. I’m a little disappointed.”

“We can be cringey,” Jackson says, with way too much excitement. He squishes Mark’s cheeks, “Come here-“

“-Igh!” Mark squirms, fighting him off as Jackson makes kissy noises.

“No, no, I get what he’s saying,” Yugyeom speaks with his mouth full. “Like, the honeymoon phase. You know, like, when a couple can’t physically interact with another human if their partner is less than ten feet away from them.”

Mark slaps a hand over Jackson’s mouth, “We had ten years for a honeymoon phase.” 

"We were never like that," Jinyoung says to Jaebum, and earns a chorus of scoffs from the table.

“I’m dissatisfied,” Youngjae pouts. “When you two said you were dating I was expecting some kind of grand hoo-ha.”

“Yah.”

Jackson licks Mark’s hand, and Mark doesn’t react.

“Untrue,” Mark says. “It’s totally different.” Jackson bites this time, and Mark pulls away with a yip.

Jackson argues, "There was a grand hoo-ha! I bought him flowers."

That he did. They're dead now, but Mark never threw them away.

“You're all idiots,” Jinyoung says. “Our group’s sexual tension has lessened by  _at least_ fifty percent.”

Bambam and Yugyeom suddenly look in two different directions. Youngjae can’t stop laughing.

“I don’t actually believe that you’re dating,” Jaebum sips. “This could be a rouse.”

“Oh my god,” Mark rubs his temple, “why would we-“

“Yeah,” Bambam points, with his chopsticks. “How do we know you’re not fake dating.”

“Bam, you read too much-“

Youngjae starts to chant, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Yugyeom joins him, “Kiss!”

People on the walking path stare. Mark hides his face in his hands.

“Mark, the people want it,” Jackson says heroically.

Jinyoung cups his hands, “Fucking kiss-“

Mark pulls his head out of his hands and sighs. Jackson gives him a sympathetic smile. It’s only a short peck, just for show, but their friends clap and Mark feels more exasperated, than embarrassed. His lips tingle afterwards, as cliché as it is.

“Alright, you pass,” Jaebum says, and Mark flips him off.

It’s confusing. Yeah, sure, Mark doesn’t coddle Jackson like they’re thirteen – but everything feels  _new._ Holding hands and sitting in his lap during movie nights. Jackson doesn’t go easy on him during Mario Party, but Mark wouldn’t want him to. There’s no favorites in wartime.

But anyways – there’s still school, that’s still very real and very difficult. At least, now, there isn’t such a heavy weight on his back. Mark can’t spend every waking minute with Jackson, as much as he’d love to. He still holes himself up in his room, up to his chin in homework, but Jackson brings him coffee and a kiss. Mark is disgustingly head over heels for him, and Jackson knows it.

 

* * *

 

Mark isn’t so good at public affection – but Jackson is effortless with it, and it makes Mark less nervous. It normalizes it – crosses the space between them that Mark wasn’t allowed to touch for so long. Friends-to-still-friends-but-also-lovers is strange.

“You look good,” Mark says, leaning against the door of his car. Jackson beams, slinging his backpack off his shoulder, and reaching to slip an arm around the narrow curve of Mark’s waist. It always fits so well – his ribs fitting in his forearm. He leans in for a kiss, and Mark resists the urge to panic, knowing other students walk right by. But the feeling bleeds out of him, reminding himself that he’s  _proud_ of this – of Jackson and how damn adorable he is.

“Oh, sorry,” Jackson goes to step back, sensing the unease in Mark’s body language, because Jackson can read him like a damn book.

“No-“ Mark pulls on his collar, and slips a kiss along his lower lip. Students stare, but he ignores them. It’s a short kiss, pulling apart so Mark can pat his hip, “How was class?”

“I’m drowning,” Jackson exhales, “in Sociology homework.”

“I can’t believe they made you take that class.”

“Me too,” Jackson kisses his ear, and Mark totally doesn’t shiver. “Where we headed?”

“Anywhere.” Mark smiles, “I don’t work tomorrow.”

 

They drive along the coastal highway. Mark rolls down the windows, and lets Jackson belt out Rihanna to the sea spray.

Jackson’s hand slips along his thigh halfway home. Mark chastises him –  _do you want to crash?-_ but Jackson laughs and squeezes, so Mark jerks the wheel just to scare him.

“Fuck!” Jackson jumps, and Mark giggles, reaching over to slap at his arm.

“I warned you.”

Jackson sticks out his tongue, and Mark thinks it’s cute, so he tells him so.

 

* * *

 

It’s been way too long since they’ve done this. Well – they smoked last week – but  _here_ , in Jackson’s beat up car. The last time they hotboxed his jalopy they had sat on opposite sides of the back seat, legs intertwined. Mark had been too scared to make a move. Too high to shut his dumb mouth.

It’s funny now. Jackson is a heavy weight on his lap, but not an unwelcome one. His thighs sit on either side of his, back bowing to avoid smashing his head against the car roof, as he holds a pipe in one hand, a lighter in the other, and blows smoke right down Mark’s shirt.

Mark laughs, “What are you doing?”

“Hotboxing your shirt while we hotbox the car.” Jackson blows more smoke down the collar of his oversized shirt, and it’s warm, evaporating against his skin. “It’s hotbox-ception.” Like that makes any sense. 

Mark can’t stop touching him, now that he’s allowed to. He runs his hands up and down Jackson’s thighs; he plays with his belt loops, and tugs on the corners of his jean pockets. He doesn’t dare slip his hands up beneath Jackson’s shirt; Mark is pretty sure he’d short circuit and die.

He doesn’t realize that Jackson has been talking.

“Huh?” Mark blinks.

Jackson giggles, and nearly drops the lighter, “You’re staring.”

“You’re pretty.”

Jackson blinks. There's a sense of déjà vu.

“Creep,” Jackson teases, fondly. Mark feels sweat roll down his neck. It’s hot in here, but Mark isn’t complaining. He runs his fingers, feather light, around to Jackson’s ass, and Jackson shifts in his lap. His face is red. It’s kinda’ sexy. Not kinda. Like, really. Really sexy.

Jackson is staring back. Mark is too high to feel embarrassed.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“Do you remember the first time we did this?”

“Smoked?” Mark blinks. “Oh shit. I was such a noob, I think I lost a lung that day.”

Jackson fondly nuzzles into the side of his face. Mark’s heart does flip flops. “Yeah. Bobby sold us some cheap weed and we rolled the fattest, ugliest blunt under the school bleachers.”

“Coach got mad,” Mark hums. “He knew. And we knew he knew. But he couldn’t prove shit.”

Jackson laughs. “Remember the first time we hotboxed your parent’s car?”

“Oh yeah. When- when your ex-girlfriend…that was...bad.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Jackson laughs. Mark hums. "You made me smile for the first time since the breakup." 

Mark places a kiss to his shoulder, to hide his face. He doesn't want to think about her - or anyone else with Jackson.

“Do you, uh,” Jackson’s left hand curls up the side of his neck, and into the sweaty strands of his hair. Mark tries not to feel self-conscious about it. “Um. Remember that time we were smoking with the maknaes.”

Mark snorts, “Which time?”  

“When Bam asked about shotgunning.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Mark swallows, feeling warmer.

Jackson sighs, “I feel bad about that.”

“Wh… Why?”

Jackson squeezes closer, holding the pipe and the lighter away in one hand. His voice sounds loud against the silence of the car.

“It was a set up.”

Mark blinks.

“What?”

“With Bam,” Jackson hums, still playing with his hair. His eyes are hot. “I was supposed to kiss you.”

“You didn’t.” Mark swallows. His chest is tight. Jackson told him he always liked him - but it's still a surprise when Mark is reminded of such.

“I wanted to.”

“Bambam is a good actor.”

“He called me a bitch for chickening out.”  

“He’s not one to talk,” Mark says, and slides his hands up Jackson’s waist. His fingers don’t touch bare skin- but Jackson’s top is slightly sticking to him, and Mark can feel the muscle underneath.

Jackson leans back to pack another hit.

“Do you wanna’ do it again?”

Mark asks dumbly, “What?”

“Shotgun.” Jackson lights it, “For real this time.”

“Oh,” Mark swallows. “Yeah.” Hell yeah.

Jackson smiles brilliantly, teeth and pretty pink lips, before breathing in smoke, and holding it in his cheeks. Mark can see the length of his dark eyelashes, and the curve of his button nose. Mark prepares himself, hands still on Jackson’s waist. Jackson leans in, and Mark waits for him to hover – but Jackson leans all the way in, for a kiss hot enough to burn. It sears his lips, and Mark's mouth falls open. He’d give Jackson anything, he thinks. Anything he wanted. Call Mark a sucker.  

The first prod of his tongue shocks him. Mark parts his lips against Jackson’s, and feels that tongue float smoke into his mouth. He’s tense, but he can’t help it – Jackson is holding onto the back of his neck, his grip strong. Mark couldn’t move his head if he wanted to, and that's a weird turn on.

Mark inhales the smoke, eyes closing, fingers tightening in Jackson’s side. It takes forever to feel the hit, and even longer for Jackson’s lips to move, kissing him hard and needy. Mark tries to kiss back without coughing – he eventually has to lean away to do so, but Jackson’s lips slide down his jaw, and Mark might’ve moaned.

“God, you’re hot,” Mark manages.

“I know, sorry it’s humid in here.”

“Yes, but also,” Mark curls a hand around his ass, “hot.”  Jackson is so strong, so dense, he could snap Mark in half, and he fucking loves it.

Jackson laughs against his throat. It trembles through him, vibrating Mark to his very core.

“I know that too, but thanks.”

The high hits Mark in waves. He’s sleepy, but with every nerve on edge. Tingly. Sticky. He can’t bear to close his eyes again, especially with Jackson in his lap, lazily working his mouth down his throat like he doesn’t have a care in the fucking world.

Mark allows himself to slip his hand under Jackson’s shirt. The skin on skin contact jolts Mark, because he’s so  _real._ And soft. Mark runs his fingers up his stomach, tracing the little outlines of his abs – and the squish around his hips, and he’s barely touching him, but Jackson trembles anyways. Mark wishes he was sober enough to take this all in.

“Jackson,” he breathes.

There’s a hard kiss at his throat. Mark can feel himself getting stiff. Jackson breathes hard in his lap, and licks back up by his ear, and oh  _god –_ he’s definitely going to make a fool of himself, real fast.

“Jackson,” Mark repeats, louder this time.

Jackson nips at his jaw, and Mark feels punched. “Yeah?”

“Let’s- let’s not.” Mark pulls his hand away, “Let’s uh. Um. Wait.”

“Okay,” Jackson says, rolling his head onto Mark’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Mark wraps his arms around Jackson’s waist, so they’re hugging.

“Yeah. I just. I’m a little fucked up. I wanna’ like. Appreciate this.”

“Oh,” Jackson wiggles in the small space, until his arms are slipped around Mark as well. “You’re smart. Good idea.”

Mark giggles, and Jackson laughs too. There's a soft moment of silence. Just breathing. Just smoke.

Mark grounds himself, drawing tiny circles on Jackson's outer arm.

He sighs - and says aloud, almost on accident.

"Fuck, I'm so in love with you."

Jackson tenses in his lap, but doesn't move. He exhales, breath falling down Mark's neck.

"You shouldn't be."

"Why would you say that?" Mark frowns.

"Because." Jackson shrugs, "I'm obnoxious. And loud. And possessive. There's alot of bad things about me."

The high makes Mark brutally honest, "But I like all the bad things about you."

Jackson sniffs, "Don't make me cry."

Mark laughs, "But it's true. You sure as hell know I come with baggage." 

"But you're you. And I'm obsessed with you." 

Mark snorts, and leans up to tug on his ear, "Hypocrite." 

Jackson smiles against his cheek, and presses a lazy kiss. Mark feels warm all over, dizzy yet grounded, safe under Jackson's body weight. 

 They fall asleep that way.

 

* * *

 "This one?" 

 

Mark kicks his feet up on the coffee table that’s not his, and lifts his arms behind his head.  The 3J apartment always did have a comfier couch – Mark shifts, and steals the big fluffy pillow Youngjae got from another impulse buy. 

“Nope,” Mark says. “Try again.”

Yugyeom sighs audibly from the kitchen, and rummages through more of the pantry.

“Nope. That’s paprika. Nope. Nope- Really Yugyeom? Cayenne pepper in spaghetti?”

“It all looks the same!”

“Then fucken’ read.” 

“What’s going on in here?” Youngjae peeps in from his bedroom, still in his pajamas.

“I’m teaching Yugyeom how to cook,” Mark deadpans.

“At our apartment?” Youngjae stares.

"Bambam won't let me use our dorm kitchen," Yugyeom says.

"And I wasn’t going to let him set _my_ kitchen on fire.” 

“Alright, touché.” Youngjae yawns, heading for the coffee pot. “I don’t cook much anyways. Where’d Jackson and Bam go?”

“Shopping with Jinyoung," Mark answers. “And no Yug – don’t – the other way-“

Yugyeom turns the burner all the way on, and the kitchen immediately smells like gas.

“ _Yugyeom-“_

“I got it!” Yugyeom shouts. “Shut _up.”_

“Do you really not know how to boil water?”

“It’s not my fault Bambam does all the cooking,” Yugyeom pouts.

“A pot of water, kid,” Mark points. “Don’t fill it up to the top. Watch that fire, don’t drop salt in it.”

Yugyeom mutters to himself, pouting as he sticks a pot under the sink. Youngjae maneuvers around him, setting a mug under the coffee maker, and crossing over the living room to cuddle into Mark’s side. Mark lets him in with an open arm, ruffling his hair.

“Welcome to the land of the living. It’s five p.m.”

“I stayed up all night writing a thesis on soil erosion,” Youngjae yawns.

“Wow, thrilling.”

“I know, kill me.”

“Hyung, what now?” Yugyeom stares at his pot of water.

“Is it boiling?”

“There’s bubbles.”

Mark points, “Pasta. Pot. Not too much. Grab olive oil and salt – not too much of that either.”

Yugyeom is very meticulous with putting in the pasta. Mark doesn’t say anything about it, because it’s cute.

“So I wasn’t paying attention,” Youngjae turns, head on his shoulder, “Where’s your boy?”

Mark half-smiles. That makes him feel good. “The mall down by the movie theater. Apparently Amber is throwing a fancy dinner next week and none of them have anything to wear.”

“I’d disagree, I’ve seen their closets.” Youngjae retorts. Mark makes an agreeing noise. “What’s the fancy party?”

“It’s a murder mystery night. We’re supposed to act all posh. You got your invite, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t open it- shit, really? Are we playing Clue?!”

“Apparently.”

“That’s so lame,” Yugyeom says, from the kitchen.

“You shut up,” Mark points. “You’re still a freshman. Your idea of fun is getting drunk, and throwing up just so you can drink more.”

“You are correct,” Yugyeom sings. The fire flares a little when some of the boiling water slips over the edge of the pot, and Yugyeom yelps.

“Is Jackson bringing home food?” Youngjae asks, as he watches Yugyeom patter nervously around the kitchen. Yugyeom’s head snaps over in a huff.

Mark shrugs, “Dunno.”

“You’re a bad boyfriend.”

“What, why? Because I don’t ride his ass?” Mark frowns. Youngjae lifts an eyebrow, and Mark backpedals, “Wait- bad word choice. I’m not a bad S.O just because I don’t text him every waking minute.”

“Yeah, okay whatever,” Youngjae pats for his phone.

“Have you two slept together yet?” Yugyeom asks as he sirs the pasta.

“Uh,” Mark shifts. “That’s none of your business.”

“That’s a no,” Youngjae laughs. “And it kinda’ is our business. I love him like a brother, but I think I speak for everyone when I say I’ve always wondered how good he is in bed.”

Yugyeom gives an affirmative _mhmm,_ and Mark scowls from the couch.

“Yugyeom, cover your baby ears.”

“Oh shut up.”

Youngjae elbows him, “It’s been like a month and a half. You guys have to have done _something.”_

“Well, sorry to disappoint, Youngjae, but I’ve been working 25 hours a week and I have homework falling out of my ass, so, I have no idea how good Jackson is in bed.”

They haven't rushed things, but Mark doesn't mind. It'd be nice to get laid, but Mark is enjoying the small things. Still...Mark would be lying if he said he didn't constantly think about that time in the back of Jackson's car last week.

Youngjae squints, “You’re not busy right now.”

“Uh, I’m helping Yugyeom cook,” Mark crosses his arms. “Yug, you’re about to burn it.”

Yugyeom jolts from where he’s standing, and darts to turn down the burner.

Youngjae’s phone dings. He reads it quickly, before relaxing back into Mark’s side.

“Jinyoung is bringing home tacos, thank goodness.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” Mark says flippantly, without looking up. Yugyeom pouts as he strains the pasta over the sink.  Youngjae’s coffee finished a while ago; he forces himself up out of Mark’s arms, and meanders towards the coffee maker. He peeps over Yugyeom’s shoulder, and eyes the pasta.

“Is it supposed to look like that?”

“I don’t know?”

“What does it look like?” Mark stares.

“Uh. Like cheese.”

“It looks fine to me,” Yugyeom blinks. Mark sits up, and Yugyeom tips the pot and- oh god.

“It’s….” Mark tries to think of a word. “…creative.”

“How did you fuck up pasta?” Youngjae grabs his coffee. “Even _I_ can make pasta.”

“Neither of you are making me feel any better.”

“I’m proud of you,” Mark chirps. Yugyeom makes a sniffle noise, and Mark opens up his arms.

“C’mere.”

“No,” Yugyeom frowns as he dumps the pasta in the trash. “I’m gonna’ do this.”

Mark opens his mouth to reply, but he’s cut off by the front door kicking open, as Jackson appears holding two Supreme Taco Party Packs in his arms.

“Ding dong bitch!”

Bambam holds another pack above his head, “Taco time!”

The whole gang is here – they apparently picked up Jaebum from work, because he’s carrying in the shopping bags, and dumping them on the floor. Mark waves, and Jaebum gives him a nod and a smile.

“Thank you Jesus,” Youngjae slips over, dipping his hand into one of the boxes and skipping towards the dining table. Jaebum follows, already halfway through a chicken hard-shell. 

“How was shopping?” Mark asks.

Jackson sees him, and perks up, dropping the boxes on the counter, “Mark! You’re here.”

“Shopping went well,” Jinyoung answers for him. “But I spent the majority of the time trying to keep these two from buying a ten-pound gummy bear.”

“You should’ve seen it, Hyung,” Bambam waves, as he toes off his shoes. “It was glorious.”

“Ten pounds? That makes me nauseas,” Mark gags. Jackson hops over to him, and Mark throws open his arms. Jackson bounces to his side, wrapping around Mark’s waist and squeezing him close. Mark keeps his composure for the sake of their friends – but he can’t resist kissing the side of his face. Seeing Jackson at the end of the day is like greeting a dog. Mark really loves dogs.

"How was your day?"

"Lazy and beautiful." 

“Hyung wouldn’t let us get the gummy bear, but I _did_ find this really nice georgette-“ Bambam pauses, hand halfway in the air. He turns to Yugyeom, who’s scrubbing out a pan with pasta half-burned at the bottom. “What’s going on in here?”

Youngjae laughs.

“I was trying to teach him how to boil spaghetti,” Mark says, as he strokes a hand through Jackson’s hair.

Jaebum cackles, “Aw, I missed it.”

“His creation is still in the trash, if you wanna’ see it.”

“No thanks,” Jinyoung takes a taco, and sits on Jaebum's lap.

Bambam gives Yugyeom a sympathetic look, and rests a hand on his shoulder as he slips by him to steal a water out of the fridge. “Oh baby, just leave the cooking to me.”

Mark has the utter pleasure of watching Yugyeom’s face go completely red.

“No, you see, you’re the problem,” Jackson points. “You’re the reason that boy can’t read a measuring cup.”

“I can too!”

“I like cooking for people,” Bambam pouts.

“Yug, come have a taco,” Youngjae waves. Yugyeom eventually waddles over, and takes a seat and a taco.

“Are you drinking coffee?” Jinyoung stares.

Youngjae pauses, “Uh….Yeah.”

Jaebum snorts, “Oh goody. Hot sauce and caffeine – that’s a mix.”

“Are you surprised? Youngjae has an iron stomach,” Mark says.   

Jackson squeezes his waist, and bonks his head lightly against Mark’s temple, “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, but I’m too comfortable to move.”

“Hey Yugyeom,” Jackson pulls a hand away to hold up. “Taco me, bro.”

Yugyeom’s face lightens a little. 

“Any preference?”

Mark says, “Beef.”

Yugyeom digs out a beef taco, and holds it up like a football.

“Go long!”

Jinyoung has just enough time to look up and snap _no!_ Before Yugyeom has launched it. Jackson has to tear out of Mark’s arms just to stand up in time. He prevents it from splattering against the wall, but Mark can hear the audible squish of the taco contents.

“Got it, babe,” Jackson sits back down.

Mark deadpans, “Oh, goody.”

“Nice throw.”

“Thanks Hyung!”

Jinyoung turns back around to slap Yugyeom’s arm. 

“Why’d you throw it so hard!”

“I’m naturally strong~”  Yugyeom teases, and Mark smiles, glad to see Yugyeom acting himself again.

He unwraps the taco. Jackson peeps over his shoulder, “Did it survive?”

“It’s a little broken, but still edible.”

“Just like me,” Bambam deadpans, and it breaks a hard, wheezing laugh out of Mark. He has to lean over and rub the tears out of his eyes.

“You two always had a fucked up sense of humor,” Jaebum points. Bambam laughs.

Jackson steals a bite of Mark’s taco as he giggles, “It’s cute.”

“Hey!” Mark nabs the taco out of his hand, “This is mine. My _boyfriend_ caught it for me.”

The wide, unadulterated smile that crosses Jackson’s face leaves Mark a bit winded.

It’s the small things in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was sooo self indulgent, so forgive me 
> 
> i'm planning 1 more chapter :) thanks for the comments & kudos ^^


	5. Chapter 5

Mark always preferred the sex, compared to the gross, romancey parts of a relationship. Too much cringe. Too boring. Mark doesn't care about roses. He’ll skip out on the candle lit picnic, thanks.

But with Jackson its- it’s different. The heart-squeezy feeling he gets when he sees Jackson standing, waiting for him after work with coffee, or coming out of practice with a heavy bag and sweat soaked clothes – it’s a good feeling. Mark feels high on it.

But he still stresses, of course, because when does he not?

They haven’t gotten farther than that time in Jackson’s car – they haven’t had time, dammit, and Mark just wants to rake his nails down Jackson’s chest, and permanently bury himself six feet deep in his thighs. But, as life would have it, Mark barely has enough time to think, let alone get laid. He regrets procrastinating some of those essays.

The month that stretches feels thin. If they have sex, he wants it to be  _right._ Not something rushed in the bathroom, or a handjob from the passenger seat (as great as that'd be). He wants to sit Jackson down, and lick every square inch of that loveable doof, until he's a bitten, squirming mess.

Because of that, Mark feels nervous whenever Jackson makes out with him against the hood of his car, or against his front door. They haven’t talked about sex yet, and the unspoken elephant is growing too large to ignore.  Mark doesn't know what to say- and its odd, because he's used to telling Jackson everything. 

 

Mark gets a call as he types a fat load of bullshit into a Word document. He sees the caller ID, the name ridden with a gratuitous amount of emoji’s that Mark doesn’t remember putting there himself.

“Ayo,” Mark says, once he’s plugged in his headphones.

 _“Hey baby,”_ Jackson chirps. Mark inhales sharply. He used to cringe at pet names – but when Jackson says them, it makes his heart feel squishy. Shit, he’s gotten soft.

“What’s up?”

_“Are your parents home?”_

A laugh bubbles out of him. Mark looks around his empty apartment.

“No. JB and Jinyoung went clubbing.”

_“And didn’t invite us? I’m scandalized.”_

“They actually did…” Mark starts. “But I said no. I have to write an issues paper. You can probably catch up to them if you leave now.”

_“Dude, fuck no. I’m around the corner, I’m gonna’ come bring you some muffins.”_

Mark laughs, “Muffins? Wait, are you driving?”

_“Yeah. Wonho started working at this bakery and he had like six extra muffins he didn’t want, cause, you know, diet.”_

“Oh fuck that.”

_“I know right? Ah-! Hey! Stay in your fuckin’ lane, dude-“_

“Jackson, drive,” Mark says, turning back to his computer. “I’ll leave the front door unlocked.”

_“Alright baby.”_

Mark hangs up, running his tongue across his teeth. When was the last time he showered? Probably too long.

He saves his work, and decides to take a rapid-fast shower. Just enough to wash his hair, and scrub himself down with that same bottle of body wash that he got two Christmases ago from Jinyoung.

By the time he hops out, throws on clothes, and patters back into the living room, Jackson is already there, perched on a barstool, working his way through a muffin. He looks so sweet, hair ruffled and draped in an oversized sweatshirt and joggers.

Jackson’s head snaps up.

“All clean!” Jackson cheers.

“All clean,” Mark parrots, letting his towel slide off his shoulder. “What’d you bring me?”

“Only the finest of muffin choices, my dear,” Jackson places the bag in his lap. “Blueberry. Banana. Chocolate.  _Triple_ chocolate. Raisin.”

“Triple chocolate, get that raisin shit outta’ here,” Mark says, walking up to him. “Go big or go home.”

“Go big or avoid diabetes.”

“Don’t muffin-shame me,” Mark stands between Jackson’s legs. Jackson sets the bag aside, and smiles, placing his hands sturdy on Mark’s hips.

“I missssed yoooou,” Jackson drawls, tugging him close. He kisses his cheek, his chin, his ear,  “Wow, you smell good.”

“I showered just for you.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be,” Mark reaches around him, to slip his hand in the bag, as Jackson mouths at his neck. “I’ve been up to my tits in busywork.”

“Tell me about your essay,” Jackson squeezes him close, and Mark loves how he feels against him. Sturdy and strong. Mark takes a bite over his shoulder, and speaks with his mouth full.

“M’ writin’ 'bout bees.”

“Bees?”

“Capitalism is killing them, Jackson.”

“I could argue that capitalism is killing us all.”

“They’re just little fuzzy pin tacks. They’re just doing their best.”

“You used to be terrified of them as a kid.”

“I was a fool,” Mark chews.

“Character development,” Jackson jokes, and Mark laughs.

“Carry me to the couch and tell me about your day.”

Jackson lights up. He scoops Mark into his arms – Mark careful about his muffin- and plops them down on that sad brown couch. He does it so easy; Mark bites down on his lip, so he doesn’t say something dumb. Like. How ridiculously sexy it is that Jackson can actually hold him in his arms like a Disney princess. Mark is realizing that he might have a thing for manhandling. 

 Jackson shifts to get comfortable. Mark kicks his feet into Jackson’s lap, settling against the pillows.

“Day. Tell.”

“Busy.” Jackson smiles. “Practice ended late.”

“I can tell,” Mark frowns. “Class go okay?”

“Yeah. I fell asleep and missed literally nothing. My professor went on an hour tangent about Art Deco.” Jackson lightly runs his fingers up and down Mark's leg.

“Ew. Literally the least interesting art movement.”

Jackson shrugs,  “It was a good nap.”

“Speaking of naps, are we still going to the movies on Monday?”

“As far as I’m awa-  _hey!_ I’m like, actually excited to see that movie, shut up,” Jackson fake-pouts.

“I don’t understand you,” Mark sets aside the muffin wrapper. “You can’t sit through the first ten minutes of Batman Begins, but you’re  _excited_ for a World War II movie.”

“Listen, Batman isn’t relevant anymore-“

“I think a few people would disagree.”

“-but as Mama Rue has said, you must know your  _her-_ story.”  Jackson squeezes into Mark’s calf with a smile.

Mark begins to laugh, but when Jackson’s thumb digs into the muscle beneath his knee, Mark lets out an involuntary moan. A hard, toe-curling chill runs down his spine.

“Feels good?” Jackson grins.

Mark fights a blush, “Yeah.”

Jackson massages down his calf. He’s always had a good grip strength, and it feels  _so_ fucking nice, especially when he squeezes into the arch of his foot. His fingers slide soft, and dig hard, leaving his skin to ache and tingle. 

“Aaaa _-aaahh-“_  Mark’s voice hitches, arching into his hand as he squeezes.

“Hurt?”

“Hurt, tickles, feels good.”

“Dude, I’m a really good masseuse.” Jackson says seriously. “Have I never given you a massage?”

“No?”

“Oh, oh oh,” Jackson grins. He pats the spot between his legs, “Sit here. I can work those knots out of your shoulders.”

Mark bristles, “How do you know about those?”

“Cause I've known you half my life. You’re carrying rocks, bro.”

“Ah.” Mark chews on his lip. “Are you sure you wanna’? I feel like I’m the one who should be giving you a massage.”

“I’d  _love_ to do it,” Jackson says it so honestly, that Mark feels dizzy with how much he loves this guy.

Mark makes a sound, heaving himself up. This is probably a terrible idea; Mark eyes his computer where homework sits – but he looks back to Jackson, who’s nosing through the random shit on their couch side table, until he finds a bottle of lotion.

“Is this yours or JB’s?”

“Mine.”

“Oh, kinky,” Jackson lifts it up. “Do you jerk off here?”

“Uh, no.” Mark says, shifting to the floor. He wiggles until he’s between Jackson’s knees, facing the T.V.

He can hear the teasing in Jackson’s voice, “Are you  _sure~”_

“Am I not allowed to have hydrated skin?”

Jackson pats his shoulder, “Shirt off.”

He hesitates. Mark looks back to Jackson; doting, sexy, adorable Jackson, who’s covering his hands with lotion in the most normal way – but Mark’s lizard brain sees it as horribly erotic, the way his hands make a slick, squishy sound as he rubs them together.

Mark whips back around, and pops his shirt over his head. His hair is still a little damp.

“Ahhh, cute,” Jackson coos.

“Me?”

“No, the houseplant.” Jackson’s hands start at his neck, and Mark startles a little. “Yes, you. I always liked the little mole you have here.”

Mark feels winded, “Oh.”

Thumbs dig into the top nubs of his spine. They work slow, in circles, down each bump, meticulous and surprisingly patient. Mark’s heart is beating too fast. He’s too old for this. At the crippled age of twenty-two he’ll die, right here – especially when hands roll to each of his shoulders. They push once, hard and strong, before his thumbs dig into rocks, and Mark’s jaw drops in another moan.

“Goddamn,” Jackson whistles. He digs harder, and Mark winces, caught between feeling  _really good,_ and borderline pain.

“Ah, ah, ow-“

“Hold on, baby,” Jackson slicks his fingers again. “Carrying some stress, are ya’?”

Mark sags, and exhales, “Aren’t I always?”

Jackson doesn’t respond. Warm hands return once more; they lovingly sweep around his neck, giving him goosebumps, before he works on his shoulders again. Mark may be a little taller- but Jackson's hands are larger, eating him up and covering skin, making Mark feel small and- maybe a bit-

“Are you doing okay?”

Mark’s brain flatlines, “Huh?”

“You had that existential crisis last week.”

“Oh,” Mark sniffs. He might’ve called Jackson at two in the morning on the verge of a panic attack.

_Oh god I’m going to graduate soon and I won’t find a job and I’ll be stuck in customer service forever Jackson, I’m going to die old and crusty in the corner of an apple store paying off debt for the rest of my life-_

“I’m doing better.”

“That’s good,” Jackson decides to lean down and press a kiss against the top of his head, and Mark feels his heart drop out his ass. “I was worried about you.”

Mark’s throat goes tight.

“I never did thank you. For taking me out for pancakes at three in the morning,” Mark mumbles. “I felt so bad that you had an eight-thirty that day.”

Jackson rolls his hands down the outer side of Mark’s shoulders, spreading cool lotion down his skin. Mark suddenly feels exposed, sitting on his carpet in just a pair of sweatpants. His T.V. is still on mute, from when Jaebum had left it on. It’s a show about building treehouses, or something. Mark isn’t paying attention.

"We've done way, way worse than eat pancakes before an eight thirty," Jackson says. True that. 

Mark tries to respond, but lord, Jackson’s hands. They dig hard, and smooth soft. They rub in gentle circles, before pressing hard into his mid back, and Mark’s eyes roll into his head. He makes another soft sound, shifting to press his knees together. A sick part of him hopes he bruises. Hopes he's left with Jackson sizes handprints, to ogle at the next day. 

“Still good?”

“Who taught you this?”

Jackson laughs, and digs hard into a particularly tight spot on his back, “I did it for my mom a lot.”

Mark sits up straight. He opens his eyes.

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “How’s she doing?”

He can hear Jackson’s smile, “Really good. I facetimed her the other day. She seemed healthy.”

Mark smiles too, “That’s good.”

Jackson’s blunt nails rake down his spine – and yep, that’s it. A groan rips from his throat, heard despite his teeth clenched shut – and it sounds downright filthy. Enough for Mark to feel hot shame.

Jackson goes silent. He hesitates, and Mark's stomach flip flops. Hands start again, but this time they gently thumb down to his lower back, and Mark blinks away the stars.

He’s not usually the one to fill the silence, but the sound of Jackson’s hands working against lotion and skin – it’s too much. Too loud. Mark feels stiffer, and squirms, skin burning where Jackson touches.

“Ah. You’re- uh. Good. At this.”

Jackson doesn’t respond. Mark chews on his lower lip. Fingers squeeze at his neck  _softly,_ so softly, but Mark chokes again, mouth clamped shut, and this is going south very, very fast. Metaphorically and physically, thanks.

Jackson may be his boyfriend, and they might’ve made out on every surface of Jackson’s apartment, and neither may be a virgin of any standard, but Mark suddenly feels like one. Feels that pull on his heart, as nerves make him wring his hands in his lap, and squirm as he gets hard under Jackson’s hands. He writhes to press his legs together again, trapping his cock between his thighs.

His brain runs wild. Of those hands slamming his hips against a wall. Bruising his wrists and digging into his hair. Strong fingers working him open, dragging down his thighs- fuck- stop- dammit, shit, fuck-

The massage stops. Mark lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Feel any better?”

“Y…Yeah.” Mark rolls his shoulder. He feels loose – but his heart is still beating too fast, and he’s far from relaxed.

“Come here,” Jackson pats his lap.

Mark blinks, dizzy. “Huh?”

“Come here,” Jackson says, this time in English. “Sit.”

“You’re askin’ a lot of me here,” Mark jokes, slowly working to his feet. He panics a little, hoping Jackson won’t be able to feel his semi as he crawls into his lap- but Jackson’s hands fall to his waist, and Mark thinks oh-  _oh-_ when he realizes that Jackson is hard too. Arousal twists hard in his stomach, tough and tight and boiling.

Jackson is staring, all swirls of concentrated brown, his mouth a firm, bitten line. Mark stares back at his lips.

"Shit, look at you," Jackson's hands roll up his chest, soft from the lotion. "You’re really fucking pretty,” Jackson breathes. “You've always been gorgeous. I’ve said that, right? ”

“Once or twice,” Mark shifts. “You um. Have nice hands.”

Jackson lets out a hard breath, an almost laugh. There’s a look on his face that Mark hasn’t seen since that time in Jackson’s back seat. It's a little serious - and that's how Mark knows this is Jackson. Not social Jackson, that puts on a show for a laugh - but the real thing, the real one, with insecurities and feelings.

Mark shifts to straddle his thighs, sitting back and bracing his hands against Jackson’s neck. He’s warm. There’s stubble there – invisible to the plain eye, but very there against Mark’s fingers. He touches softly, up to his ear, and Jackson makes a gentle noise.

“Thanks for the massage.”

“I would’ve done more," Jackson grins, "but watching you squirm and moan on the floor was going to give me a goddamn heart attack.”  

Mark feels his face go hot. He turns and coughs to hide his embarrassment – but Jackson presses a kiss against the point of his jaw, and Mark’s eyes flutter shut.

“S…Sorry,” Mark manages. “Um. About that. Hands. Nice.”

Jackson actually laughs this time, right into his throat. It feels so good. Mark shivers.

“Can I shove my hand down your pants? I kinda’ really want to shove my hand down your pants. Like. Since. Forever.”

Mark tries to say  _yes_ and  _of course_ at the same time– so it comes out a choked, horrible noise, and Jackson’s hand smooths down the soft line of Mark’s back, until it’s dipping beneath his sweats, to squeeze at his ass.

And it’s like a popped balloon. A shattered teacup. All the awkward, nervous embarrassment that Mark had festered leaves with a hot exhale, before he’s biting down Jackson’s bottom lip, and running his nails up beneath Jackson’s shirt. 

Jackson kisses him back, slow at first, but then with a sharp bite and a lithe tongue. Mark accepts it all, parts his lips and bathes in the winded feeling he gets.

Mark draws out the kisses, short ones bleeding long, because Mark would live long and die like this, if he could. Jackson follows, taking a turn to nip his lower lip and pull, and Mark feels his brain backlog.

“Um-“ Mark starts, “I-“

Fingers push at his sweatpants. They roll around the bare skin of his hips, worshiping the moles that litter between his navel and his ass. Mark melts in his arms. Like putty. Like sad, sad putty.

“I don’t wanna’ wait anymore,” Jackson says, barely. “I just wanna’ bite you and roll you up and smoke ya’.”

Mark laughs against his lips, fingers tracing the outline of his pecs. Jackson’s white sweatshirt pools at his wrists; Mark can’t decide where to look. His stomach, his neck, his cheeks, his eyes- even his ears are cute, the earrings stark silver against a red flush.

“Me neither,” Mark manages. He kisses Jackson, long and filthy, hands tying in his hair. He pops away. “I didn’t know how to tell you how badly I’ve been gagging to choke on your dick.”

“Oh my  _god,”_ Jackson wheezes, head throwing back, hips rocking up instinctually. “Do you have a dirty mouth? I’m going to die if you do baby, I’m literally going to die.”

Mark laughs, and pushes until Jackson’s shirt joins his on the arm of the couch.

“I guess that’s for you to find out.”

 

* * *

 

It’s like a fucking dream come true. Jackson has a hand twisted so hard in the sheets, that it’s pulling it off the lip of the mattress. His other palm threads into Mark’s hair, too nervous to do anything other than hover, but it brings an adrenaline rush that Mark feels high on. Jackson could easily dig his hands into his scalp and yank hard enough to toss Mark five feet across the room, and there’s something sexy about that.

Mark’s lips are already swelling from sucking such deep hickeys into Jackson’s inner hip. His chest is shimmery and sticky, thanks to Mark tracing all the fine lines with his tongue twice over. Jackson’s right shoulder is purple, and that’s Mark’s fault too. His cock is sweetly flushed, leaking against his stomach, and Mark is totally in love. 

“I’m just going to start writing my last Will and Testament, if you don’t mind,” Jackson says, strained.  “Dear Mother, my bank account number is shoved under my matre- _eeess-“_ Jackson arches, as Mark laughs, and licks along the tip of his cock.

“Drama queen.”

“Jinyoung, I leave Mr. Pickle to you. I trust you to take care of him.”

Mark pushes at Jackson’s thigh with his left hand, arching it up so Mark can wiggle closer, and wrap a hand around the base of his cock with his right. He spits at the head, and works him once, with that hand.

“That’s a terrible decision. We all know Jinyoung would be the first one to throw Mr. Pickle away.”

Jackson squirms, all hot and bothered, a look for the ages. “Y-You’re right. Yugyeom, give Mr. Pickle a good home.”

Mark tastes him again, sweat and salty, and takes immense pleasure in sliding him into his mouth and sucking hard. He traces him with his tongue, meets his lips with his fist, and Jackson nearly thrashes. The fingers in his hair tense briefly, and when Mark all but moans, he tightens his grip.

“Oh my god, you like that,” Jackson breathes. Mark looks up through his eyelashes, bobs his head down, and up, so he can pull back and rub his tongue into the slit. It’s not a bad taste, and Mark lets him know that. He swallows back down and  _fuck,_ it’s so good, his mouth full, Jackson throbbing against his tongue. He briefly noses down into the shaved line of hair at his navel, and Jackson chokes.

There’s sweat slipping down the line of Mark's neck, and he shivers as his body tries to regulate his temperature. He’s burning up, face hot because of Jackson’s stare.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jackson pushes Mark’s bangs out of the way. “Do that again –  _ah – shit_  – yeah-“

Mark swallows him back down once more, eager to please. Jackson’s voice is gruff and short, and Mark wants more of it. He works his throat, swallows twice, and Jackson makes a groan so low that Mark’s toes curl.

He goes to pull back, but Jackson’s hand tenses to keep him there, grip strong, which is  _such_ a turn on, that Mark lets him keep him there, throat sputtering to adjust . Mark accepts the fact that he’s nearly gagging, because it’s a good burn, the tip of Jackson’s cock barely brazing his throat. The thigh under his palm twitches, and Mark breathes in, past the sting in his eyes. He’s not choking, but his body feels  _warm,_ blanketed and tingly, and Mark closes his eyes and sucks in air through his nose.  Jackson moans loud – and Mark echoes it. Thank god they’re home alone.

Two moments later Mark gags a little, and Jackson suddenly jolts and lets go, “ _Fuck,_ sorry-“

Mark slowly pops off to breathe. He rubs off the spit on his chin, “You can use me like that. I get off on it.”

Jackson looks like he’s having an existential crisis. Mark licks at his lower lip, and goes back to work, kissing a long stripe before swallowing back down. That hand tightens in his hair, pushing a little, and Mark moans around his dick, grinding his hips into the mattress.

“I-I want my Phineas and Ferb Pez dispensers to g-go to Jaebum,” Jackson twitches, head flopping back. “Th- _aaah-_  c-collectables-“

Mark tries not to smile. He pulls back, feeling hot and no less aroused than before. He doesn’t let Jackson fall out of his mouth, but instead rubs his cockhead against his lower lip, and watches Jackson babble. Mark closes his eyes, just to appreciate the taste of him, and the deep, blanketed feeling he gets from Jackson’s hand braced at his neck. He swallows down a little, and pokes his cock into the soft skin of his right cheek, rubbing slowly, careful with his teeth. Jackson heaves himself up on his elbows, and makes a punched sound.

“Fuck, fuck,” Jackson stares. “Fuck, Mark I’m close.”

Mark just leaves him there, that free hand rubbing circles into his thigh. It’s mostly to distract himself from how close he is to actually coming handsfree.

That hand leaves his hair. It trails slowly, down his jaw, and thumbs around the bulge in his cheek, and Jackson stares, voice strained, “Wow.”  

Mark pops off, “Come on my face.”  

Jackson visibly shivers, and Mark gets all the lovely satisfaction of feeling him harden under his hands.

_“Mark-“_

Mark works his fist up, and pulls away just in time for Jackson to come against his lips. His head is tipped up, all the lines of his neck there for Mark to ogle at. He works his tongue gently, and doesn’t flinch at the mess – because Jackson is a dinner and a show all in one.

Mark fights against the thigh that tries to squirm and flinch. He keeps Jackson grounded, until he lets go that breath he’s holding, and falls back on his elbows.

Mark can feel cum slipping down his chin. He rubs at it with his knuckles, and licks the rest off his lips. Jackson takes a minute to breathe, before he’s shooting back up to hunt for his shirt.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. It's everywhere-”

Mark licks his fingers, “What?” Oh man, his voice is wrecked.

“Who are you?” Jackson manages. He wipes the cum off Mark’s cheek, and tosses the shirt away.

“An incubus,” Mark teases, crawling up him and sitting back on Jackson’s belly. He’s pitched a real tent in his boxers, and grinds slightly against his chest, just to relieve the pressure.

“Oh fuck- I’d believe that, honestly.”

Hands crawl up to his hips. Nice, calloused ones, and Mark melts against him, dipping his head to kiss at his lips. Jackson brings a thumb to swipe at the corner of his puffy bottom lip as they kiss.

“Should I find lube?” Jackson wiggles his fingers.

“As much as I want to ride you right now, I’m literally so close,” Mark says, trying not to sound lame as hell. This wasn’t really what he planned, but the combination of Jackson pulling on his hair and calling his name really did him in.

Jackson moans, dipping his nose down to gently bite at Mark’s throat. Fingers slip beneath his boxers. Mark tenses so hard, he feels it in his toes.

 

* * *

 

It’s not so much a party, rather than a glorified get-together. There’s alcohol, but Mark has a blunt in one hand, and a bag of chex mix in the other, so he’s good.

Mark breathes out, away from the others out of courtesy. He has a great view of Jackson, who’s waving his arms around, talking passionately to Namjoon about something. Namjoon looks just as heated. If Mark had to take a guess, it’s probably about the basketball game last week.

Bambam perches behind him on the couch, ruffling a hand into his hair, “Hey guys, I found Waldo.”

“I haven’t moved all night,” Mark says, fixing his hair. Youngjae jumps over the back of the couch, and takes a seat next to him. Jungkook perches on the armrest.

“Hyung, we were hoping you’d settle an argument.”

Mark snorts, and digs around for a pretzel, “Great.”

“We won’t tell you who thinks what,” Bambam says, “out of fairness. We need you to rule with the utmost amount of justice and law.”

“I’ll summon my inner Judge Judy."

"Are you ready?" 

"As i'll ever be."

“Alright,” Youngjae lifts his hands, “Is…a hotdog a sandwich?”

Mark’s face falls flat. The maknaes are all staring at him, waiting for an answer.

Mark deadpans, “Are you fucking with me?”  

“See!” Bambam points. “It’s  _not_ a sandwich.”

“He didn’t answer yet!” Jungkook bickers.

Suga, who’s been smoking across from Mark all evening, snorts, and leans back to flick his ashes into the ashtray on the coffee table. Mark hasn’t talked to him much, but he suddenly wishes he had.

“I refuse to answer this,” Mark says. “Go ask Yugyeom.”

“We already  _asked_ Yugyeom,” Bambam huffs. “Fucking traitor.”

“Just a simple yes or no. Is it a sandwich or not?”

“A sandwich is meat between two pieces of bread,” Youngjae argues. “That’s a hotdog!”

“But the bread is  _together._ It’s not. A sandwich.”

“Subs are the same way!”

“Can you take this somewhere else?”

Bambam hops off the back of the couch, “Wow, thanks for nothing, Hyung.”

“Let’s go ask Changkyun,” Jungkook stands up. The other two nod in agreement, and go off somewhere in the house. Mark sighs, and smokes once more.

“Jungkook started that argument last night,” Suga grumbles. “The whole house was in disarray. Jimin had to sleep on the couch.”

Mark jokes, “So  _your_ maknae was patient zero, then.”

“Sorry about that.” 

"No w-"

“Hey!”

Mark turns, and Hyungwon and Kihyun are there, alcohol in hand.

“We’ve been looking for you guys.”

“I haven’t moved-“ Suga and Mark start, in sync, but they’re cut off.  Kihyun and Hyungwon flop down on opposite sides of the couch.

“I was beginning to think Jinyoung was a liar,” Kihyun grins, slinging a friendly arm around Suga’s shoulder.

“Well he is.”

“Do you want something to drink?” Hyungwon offers.

“No fucking thanks,” Mark leans up to flick his ashes into the ashtray as well. “I’m not falling for that again.”

 “Hey, as far as I’m aware, I  _helped_ you,” Hyungwon sips. “Where’s your man, anyways?”

Mark gestures with another pretzel, towards the billiards room, where Jackson has given up on the game completely in leu of his conversation with Namjoon.

Kihyun sighs, head flopping back, “Damn. He is  _so_ fine.”

“Hey,” Mark chews. “I licked him. He’s mine.”

The three laugh – Suga snorting, as he stubs out his cigarette.

“Yeah, but I really should have hit that while I had the chance,” Kihyun pouts. “I hear he’s aggressive in bed.”

Mark begins to laugh, but stops short when he thinks about when he limped for a week, because Jackson fucked him over his (poor, poor) kitchen table. 

Mark shrugs, “He has his days. Can we stop talking about this?”

“Uh, no.” Kihyun turns back around, “It’s only been a couple months, hasn’t it? Are things totally different now?”

“Yeah,” Hyungwon nudges him. “Now that he’s your boyfriend, I graduate to the role of  _best friend,_ right?”

“He’s still my best friend,” Mark argues. “And even so, there’s five other people who would argue for that spot.”

“I can take them,” Hyungwon sips.

 “You can’t still be best friends though,” Kihyun says, and he’s slurring a little. “You can’t date your best friend.”

“Well, I am, so...”

“It’s – it’s weird though.” Hyungwon frowns. “It’s like, how your mom can’t be your best friend. She’s being your  _mom._ ”

“I’m not Jackson’s mom?” Mark squints. “And I’m not his caretaker.”

“Hey, I’ve been dating Wonho for a long time-“ Hyungwon points, and cuts off Sugas deadpan of  _seven months isn’t long –_ “and just you wait til’ you start nagging each other about the dishes and shit.”

This is too much for Mark right now. He  _was_ feeling all warm and nice, but now there’s something sickly in his stomach, and he pouts, passing the blunt and crossing his arms.

“It’s not like that.”

“Sure.” Kihyun laughs, jostling Suga. Mark gives him a look in question, and he shrugs his shoulders in a  _don’t know don’t care_ kind of way.

Mark glances up to see that Jackson is no longer standing in the billiard’s room doorway. He tries not to feel unsettled, as Kihyun changes the topic to gossip about a senior in his graphic design class. Mark chews on the end of a cracker, glancing around the room every so often.

“I’m going to find Jackson,” Mark says eventually, after taking a moment to stand. “Anyone want this?”

“Your extra weed or the Chex Mix? Because I’ll take both.”

Mark tosses both bags to Suga, who catches them with a thank you.

“See ya’ Monday,” Hyungwon waves, sounding out of it.

“Yep. Bye Kihyun,” Mark saunters out, and Kihyun blows a kiss.

Small groups are talking in the hallway. Mark squeaks his way around them, and peeks in a few rooms. He finds the backyard mostly empty; he waves to Jaebum, who’s sitting with some people Mark doesn’t know.

As Mark walks back through the house, he passes Bambam and Yugyeom making out against the bathroom door - which is, wow, okay.  Mark walks right by, because he isn’t even going to  _think_ about getting involved in that mess. If the catalyst was that stupid hotdog argument, Mark is going to pull out his hair.

He’s about to call Jackson, when he finds him standing around on the front lawn with some friends. He’s laughing at something – and he’s a little drunk, but Mark is high, so he slips up behind him as quietly as he can, and slips his fingers into Jackson’s hand.

Jackson jumps and turns. When he sees Mark he smiles, yanking his hand out of Mark’s so he can throw that arm around his shoulders.

“Hello love.”

“Hi,” Mark hums. He leans into his side, and watches Taehyung and Jungkook sit on razor scooters, racing down the driveway.

“Hey everyone! This is my boyfriend!”

He says it so proud.

“We know,” Shownu deadpans, with an almost smile. Mark nods a hello.

Jackson turns his head to look Mark in the eye again, “Whatcha’ been up to?”

“Nothing,” Mark wraps an arm around Jackson’s waist, feeling a little better already. He clears his throat, and starts to say something, but Jungkook falls off the scooter, and the small group cheers.

“What was that?” Jackson laughs.

“We’re still best friends, right?” Mark says all pouty, biting his lower lip and letting it slip.

Jackson furrows his eyebrows. He squeezes his shoulder, “What? Of course. Are you drunk?”

“No,” Mark frowns. “But Hyungwon and Kihyun said-“

“Oh, you smell like weed,” Jackson nudges his nose against his ear. “Of course dude. Besties Foresties.”

Mark giggles into his shoulder. He mumbles a sleepy, “ _Love you,”,_ and Jackson’s hand slips to rub his outer arm, and keep him warm.

It’s not freezing anymore, but it’s spring, and it still feels a little chilly at night. The sun went down only minutes ago, but the breeze has a slight bite to it. Some kids lay on the lawn, idle chit-chatter filling the background noise.

“Hey Jackson-ssi!” Taehyung calls. “Race me!”

Jackson turns to look Mark in the eye. Mark smiles, and gives him a swat on the ass, “You don’t need my permission.”

“Hell yeah!” Jackson skips away, taking the scooter and positioning it next to Taehyung. Mark takes a seat in the grass, and wraps his arms around his knees, and it’s good. He’s happy.

Jinyoung finds him eventually, sitting at his side and keeping him company while Jackson and Taehyung race down the cult-de-sac.

 

* * *

 

They had a long talk last Sunday. There was laundry to be done, and dishes to be scrubbed, and textbooks to be read, but Mark and Jackson had snuggled down under all the layers of Jackson’s bed, and talked about lots and lots of things. What to eat for dinner, new internships, personal boundaries.

You learn a lot that way. For one, Mark learned something particularly interesting.

He’s always liked Jackson’s shower. He doesn’t have a tub, rather, one of those nice glass wall stand ins, with the tile bench, and the different showerhead settings. Jackson got lucky with the apartment.

Mark has Jackson pressed against that glass wall, enough so that it fogs more with each breath. He twists his fingers, and has to catch Jackson with his free hand when he nearly slips.

“Oh  _fuck-“_

“I can’t believe you’ve never bottomed before,” Mark says conversationally, as he pulls out his three fingers, and works them back it. The squelch of lube is erotic, but is mostly drown out by the spray of the shower.

“No ones every o-offered to top me before,  _oh-_ fuck-  _fuck-“_

Mark hums, and slips a kiss against the back of his neck. His hair has grown out, his roots a dark black against blonde, all sticking to face with sweat and steam. Mark braces his hand along his lower stomach, and he can feel how tense he is. He scissors his fingers in a metronomic rhythm, and he feels Jackson’s cock brush against the back of his hand as it twitches.

"Doing okay?"

Jackson squirms, whining briefly. He’s  _so_ fucking gorgeous, all spread out along the glass.

“Is this – Is this what it’s been – for, for-“

“What it’s like for me?” Mark breathes, lips slipping down his naked shoulder. “Yeah. Your cock’s so fat you had me limping for days.”

“Oh shit,” Jackson curls, cursing, forehead smacking the glass. “ _Fuck-“_

Mark’s lips pull away from his shoulder, “Does it hurt?”  He’s been working him for a while now, so it really shouldn’t-

“Fuck no,” Jackson pants. “I’m like, two seconds away from coming, and I would-would rather you fuck me first, baby.”

Mark swallows hard, rocking his erection along Jackson’s hip, and Jackson moans, rolling into his arms like he belongs there. He wasn’t sure if Jackson would like this or not, but his whole neck is red, and his cock keeps bobbing between his legs, and Mark wants to cry he loves him so much.

“Okay, hold on.”

Mark pulls out his fingers, and goes back for the lube bottle. Jackson shifts uncomfortably.

Mark pauses, mid pour. “You’re okay, right? We don't have to-"

“Duh, come on,” Jackson squirms, and right, okay. Jackson would tell him if he wanted to stop. Mark works himself in one hand, and gently prods Jackson’s shoulder with the other. Jackson moves easily, and lets Mark kick apart his legs. When Mark first grinds against him, Jackson nearly slips.  _“-Ah,_ mother- f- why are we doing this in the shower?”

“Because, you couldn't wait long enough to make it to the bed.”

"Ah, right, you know I had a dream about th-  _fuck_!"

Mark props himself at his entrance, chest tight, ribs constricting. He rocks in a little, and the slide is way easier than he was expecting. Mark thrusts halfway in, and he lets out that breath he was holding, lugs filling. Jackson is scorching hot, still tight, but so utterly trusting in Mark that it makes his heart hurt.

“Ah this is weir-  _o_ _h,_ oh, oh- wait-" Jackson swallows, rocking back almost immediately. “Ah, that feels really good.”

Good to know. Mark presses another kiss to his shoulder, and thrusts in fully. Jackson yelps, squeezing around him, and Mark nearly comes. This is won’t last long.

 _“Fuck!”_ Mark bites, “ _Jackson._ ”

“Please move, please move,” Jackson repeats, squirming in his grip. Mark moves a hand down to his hip, and squeezes. Jackson seems well adjusted, and funny enough, it’s Mark who needs to take a moment. He breathes in, and tries to quell the throbbing. 

The water spray washes over them, as Mark eventually works his hips back, and fucks Jackson against the glass wall. It takes a moment to build a rhythm, but once he’s got it, Jackson is working with him, blubbering absolute nonsense. Mark can’t seem to remember anything other than Jackson’s name, because he says it over and over, heat seeping all the way into his scalp. Jackson is squirming in his grip, trying to crane his neck back to kiss him, and Mark obliges.

His left hand scales up and down his chest, as he fucks in and out, sometimes sputtering the rhythm in favor of rolling a thumb over his nipple, and listening to Jackson whine.

“You’re doing so good,” Mark sighs, and it’s chewed up and gravely. “So – good –“

“ _There!”_ Jackson yelps, seizing in his arms, and Mark follows, panting against his ear.

Mark comes first, and it’s Jackson’s fault. He’s overeager, meeting Mark thrust for thrust, head thrown back, hands scrabbling at the mirror. Mark shoves in hard, and Jackson moans into his fist, and Mark comes so fucking hard that his hands shake.

“Oh fuck,” Mark bites, trying to catch his breath. “Fuck, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Jackson opens his mouth to reply, but Mark reaches around and squeezes at his cock, and Jackson moans hot against the glass.

Mark gives one last thrust, while he’s still hard, and slicks his hand in precum, until Jackson is sobbing hard, not sure whether to thrust forwards or rock back.

Mark can’t stop kissing him. His ears, his neck, his shoulder, the top of his spine.

“I love you,” Jackson repeats. “God I love you I love you-“

Mark laughs, and catches his lips for a kiss.

 

* * *

 

“Mhm. Yep.”

Mark stirs a pot of vegetables with a spoon.

“Yeah.”

He shifts his phone to the other ear when his shoulder gets tired.

“Mmm. Oh really?”

He can hear Jaebum, Youngjae and Jackson playing video games from their living room. Mark continues to stir.

“No, not really. Yeah. It’s been great. Yeah.” He turns the burner down, and adds a bit of olive oil. It sears up, and Mark flinches. “That’s what I thought too, but, who knows. Mhmm.”

There’s screaming from the livingroom. Someone just threw their controller, and Mark tries not to laugh.

“No, no, not you,” Mark sniffs. “Youngjae and Jackson are over. Yeah.”

“You rang?” Jackson peeps in, smiling.

“You lost?” Mark asks, with a similar smile. Jackson pouts and B-lines for the coke in their fridge.

“Shut up.”

Mark turns the phone back, “Yeah sorry. It was. What? Why?” Mark looks up at Jackson hunched over the fridge, and back to his food. “Okay, sure.” He pulls his phone away, and holds it out to Jackson. “Hey, my mom wants to talk to you.”

Jackson perks up, shutting the fridge. He takes the phone hastily, and answers with a bubbly, “Mama Tuan! Yes! Yes!”

Mark smiles, and turns back the stove. Jackson perches against an adjacent counter, and babbles excitedly.

“Oh it’s been so much fun. Yeah, I’m going to nationals! Yeah! Would you? Just for me? Oh, you’re the best-“

Mark turns off the burner, and sets them aside as he prepares the pasta. He can hear Youngjae’s laugh from the livingroom, and he’s tempted to sneak a look, but Jackson starts to say – “Oh, he’s the best little boyfriend. You’d be really surprised! Yeah! He’s so soft-“

Mark makes an Olympic dive for his phone, but Jackson pulls it away, standing on his tiptoes and wiggling his escape. Jackson strains, “Yeah! He’s so cute he bought me flowers last week-“

“Jackson!” Mark barks

Jackson giggles, and dances to the other side of the kitchen, “Yes! Oh I promise! Of course, I’ll send you pictures!”

“Jackson Wang!” Mark crosses his arms and pouts, and Jackson stops running with a smile.

“Alright. Yes, I’ll come down for Christmas this year. Okay. Love you too! Buh bye.”

Jackson hands him the phone back, and Mark takes it with a pout. He holds the phone up to his ear, and then pulls away with a frown.

“She hung up.”

Jackson breaks out laughing. He slips over, and reaches around to hold Mark by the hips. His hands clasp behind Mark’s lower back in a lose hug.

“Sorry baby. You don’t tell your mother anything, you know.”

“I like to keep it that way,” Mark pouts. He puts his phone away, and avoids Jackson’s kiss.

“Aww, dude don’t be like that,” Jackson tries to peck him, and it lands on his temple. “You know she’s supportive.”

“Yeah yeah…” Mark brings his hands to Jackson’s hips, because he’s fucking weak.

Jackson leans in for another kiss, and Mark lets him this time, tipping his head a little and breathing him in. It’s soft and cute, a few simple presses, leaning back just enough to kiss again.  He loves the way Jackson kisses. Swift and purposeful, like a fastmoving current, wet and stable and  _there._ Mark pulls him closer, just to make sure he’s real. He’s real and he’s  _Mark’s,_ even if he is a butthead. 

_“Hey! We’re starting round two!”_

They pop apart.

“Alright!” Jackson calls. He gives Mark a pat on the hip, “Eat fast. I need someone to help me take down Youngjae.”

Mark laughs, and brushes their noses together.

“Okay.”

 

They'll be just fine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me :) i know its not the best, but idk, i enjoyed writing it. Thanks again ^^

**Author's Note:**

> [kpop tumblr](http://mamajinchim.tumblr.com/)


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